The Lost Angel: Part 1
by Kathoran
Summary: Katie Rogers, America's Angel, lost everything after WWII left her without her fiancé, her brother, and her freedom. Since escaping HYDRA in 1991, she's been on the run, never trusting anyone. But seventy years after the deaths of the only two men she'd ever cared about, she discovers a dark secret: Both are alive... and neither man remembers her.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1**

Bruce stepped outside and took a deep breath, forcing the majority of his anger out of the way. He laced his fingers behind his head and groaned, closing his eyes. The cause of his aggravation was the Avengers. He was one of six, and the other five were inside the tower bickering like children. Stark and Thor were fighting over who was strongest, as well as whose girlfriend was the best, Rogers was trying to break them up, and Natasha and Barton were at the firing range, training. He breathed out, listening to the sounds of the city. He always hated being in large, populated areas; he was afraid of who could get hurt because of him.

He was beside the street, and though it was Manhattan, it was very quiet. The street by which he stood was deserted except for him, and the only light was that of the streetlamps which washed the street with an eerie orange glow.

The sound of something being slammed against a dumpster made him stiffen, and he turned his head to get a better reading on where the sound had come from. He could hear the distant sounds of sirens and horns from the main section of New York City a few miles away, but for the moment there was silence.

After a moment he heard the sound of scuffling from an alleyway nearby and crept closer. A heavy _thud _echoed through the street, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating from the alley.

He stood, back against the brick wall of a building, ran around the corner of the apartment building, and tripped over something on the ground, face-planting on the pavement. He swore under his breath as he surveyed his scraped up arms, wiping them on his shirt to clean the blood off them as best he could.

Moving into a crouch, he turned to face whatever had tripped him. He felt his breath leave him as he stared in astonishment at the small figure curled up on the ground in front of him. It was a girl. A child, by the look of it.

He crawled over to the girl and gently rolled her onto her back, revealing her to be a young woman who looked to be in her mid-to-late-teens. The reason he had thought he a child was because she was skeletally thin. She had dark, curly hair which fanned out around her head, dry except for a wet patch near her hairline. Bruce gently touched his hand to the spot and clenched his teeth when he saw her blood stain his hand. He touched her ribs, testing to make sure none were broken and was relieved to find that none appeared to be. He leaned over her and held his breath, listening for her breathing.

He let out a sigh of relief when the sound of her breathing reached his ears, but concern washed over him again when he realized how shallow it was. Her face was pale, almost grey, and her black jeans were torn and bloody; there was a deep gash in her calf. Through it was the middle of summer, she wore a back trench coat, which had come undone in the scuffle, revealing a black top, also torn. Bruce frowned at a particularly long tear and touched it, grimacing when he felt blood drenching her top.

He looked around, wondering who had attacked the girl, but couldn't find any clues from his position on the ground. Making a split-second decision, he propped her up and wrapped his arms around her. Standing slowly, he adjusted her body so that he could carry her easily, and felt another rush of concern at how light she was. He began walking quickly towards the entrance to the tower and entered without incident, looking around nervously the entire time.

He quickly made his way to the floor his lab was on and entered his room, locking the door securely before setting her on the cot in the corner. He made his way to his phone and hesitated, looking over at the girl before picking his phone up and dialing a number on it, his hands shaking with suppressed anger. Anger at the others, at S.H.I.E.L.D., at whoever had attacked this girl, and life in general. He closed his eyes and waited impatiently for the one person who could calm him down to pick up the phone. After an eternity, their voice reached his ears.

"Bruce? Is everything okay?"

He cleared his throat. "Natasha? I need your help."

"Bruce? What's wrong?" Natasha's voice echoed through the phone.

"I can't say," Bruce answered, knowing full well that Tony could hear everything said if he wanted to. "I need you to meet me at my lab immediately."

"Why me?" She answered, "Wouldn't Clint be better for a project?"

"No," he answered, "Just you. You must come _now_. Please."

Silence answered him.

"I'm on my way," she finally said. Bruce sighed in relief as the line went dead. Dropping his head into his hands, he reflected over all the girl's wounds, wondering what all he would have to fix.

He went to the bathroom and grabbed a rag, holding it under the faucet until it was drenched in warm water. He glanced up at the mirror and gazed at his reflection for a moment before heading back to the bedroom. The poor girl was still out cold, so he stood beside the bed and began cleaning the blood from her forehead gently. When the rag became saturated with blood, he headed to the bathroom and grabbed a second rag before heading to her.

He turned as a knock sounded from the door but before he could answer it, a groan came from the bed behind him. Bruce turned around, shocked. "No, no, no, you can't be awake," he muttered, going around the bed to where she lay, forgetting about the person at the door.

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing them to be bluish grey with a ring of dark blue around the iris, nearly identical to Rogers's. "Where am I?"

He looked around for help, but turned back to her. Her pupils were dilated to the point that her irises were barely visible, and her skin was pale and clammy. "Answer me," she said, putting as much venom as possible into her tone, though pain was clear in her voice.

"Easy," he said gently, sitting down on the bed next to her and pressing the warm rag to the blood-soaked patch of hair near her forehead, "You're safe."

"Where am I?" she repeated, her teeth clenched against the pain.

"You're in the Stark Tower," he answered, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"How did I get here?" she asked, her voice terrified.

"I found you unconscious in an alleyway outside the tower," Bruce replied, "You're injured; I don't know how badly."

She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything else, another voice came from behind Bruce. "Who's this?"

Bruce stood and turned to face the red-haired woman behind him, who stood motionless in the doorway. "Natasha, I need your help."

"What is going on?" The girl demanded, struggling to sit up.

"I'd like to know that as well," Natasha said, raising her eyebrow.

"Tasha, she's hurt, that's all that matters right now," Bruce said, crossing his arms in exasperation.

"I'm fine," the girl said, sliding off the bed and onto her feet. "I don't need your help."

As the two adults watched, she doubled over, gripping her midsection and lifting her injured leg off the ground. She caught herself on the edge of the cot and sucked in a breath, glaring at the adults as they jumped forward to help her.

"I don't need help," she snarled, her irises all but overcome with black from the pain. Bruce understood what had just happened and he felt a surge of anxiety at the severity of the situation. He could see sweat beading on her forehead and could see the strain on her face from the effort of holding herself up.

"Please," he said, holding his hands out in supplication, "you're hurt. Let us help you—"

"Why should I trust you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Because we're all you've got," he answered.

She stayed silent, watching the two and weighing her options. She looked at the window and the darkness outside, and Natasha saw helplessness flash in her eyes, something she was familiar with. The girl nodded, and the adults noted her shaking hands. She was terrified. Bruce was reminded of an injured bird.

"Alright," Banner said, sighing in relief. "Natasha, can you help her back into the lab? We need to get her onto a flat surface."

Natasha nodded and stepped over to her before lifting her up and helping her towards the door. "On it."

Bruce nodded and opened the door for the two women before gathering up his supplies and clearing off one of the tables. As Natasha set the girl on it, she looked up at them, her eyes sparkling in pain. There was thanks there, but no trust.

Natasha watched the girl in amazement as Bruce wrapped the girl's leg, cleaning the blood and filth from her skin. Athough this girl had to be in serious agony, she barely showed it at all, except for a hiss of pain every now and then. Honestly… she reminded Natasha of herself a bit.

"Okay," Bruce said, stepping back from the girl to get a good look at her injuries. "Your leg should be alright; just don't go jumping off any buildings anytime soon." He said it in jest, but a sheepish look flashed across the girl's face. She nodded. "Natasha, this is where I need you," Bruce said, turning to her.

"Alright," she said, stepping up to the table.

"Okay—" He paused for a moment, frowning slightly. "What's your name?" Bruce asked suddenly.

The girl scowled, her stormy eyes narrowing a bit as her eyes narrowed in distrust.

"It's alright," he said, backtracking, "You don't have to tell us—"

"It's Katie," she said shortly, looking up at Natasha and locking eyes with her. Something about her gaze made the assassin shiver; something about her seemed so familiar, but she couldn't place a finger on what.

"Katie," Bruce said. She nodded. "Alright, I need you to push up your shirt to a bit above your ribcage so I can get a good look at the wounds you received. Can you do that?"

She nodded slowly and nervously glanced in the older woman's direction. She lifted her top up, but her trench coat made it difficult for Bruce to see.

"Do you mind taking off the coat?" Bruce asked. "It would make it easier to see if you did—"

"No," she said firmly.

"Why not?" Natasha asked. Katie turned to face her, eyes cold and calculating.

"It is not your concern," she said menacingly, tugging her top down, wincing as she did so.

The two girls glared at each other and finally, without breaking eye contact, the elder spoke to Banner. "Bruce? Leave, I need to speak to Katie alone."

Katie's face remained expressionless, although apprehension flashed in her eyes.

"Sure," he said resignedly, stepping towards the door. "Just try not to break anything."

As the door closed behind him, Natasha sat down backwards in a chair, facing Katie. The younger girl watched the older carefully, rather like a bird watching another animal, wondering whether to fight or to flee.

"You do realize that we're trying to help you?" Natasha asked, raising her eyebrows. The girl clenched her teeth, obviously not buying it. "Please, just do what Bruce says so you can get better."

She laughed humorlessly. "Why should I trust you?" she asked.

"We're the good guys," Natasha answered.

Katie's eyes burned with anger and she sat up, her fists clenched.

"You have no idea how many times I've been told that," she said, fury in her voice. "You don't know anything."

"The why don't you tell me?" Natasha asked, standing up. Natasha noticed that the girl was taller than her by several inches and that she looked ready for a fight, despite the fact that her pallor was now a chalky grey.

Katie laughed bitterly again, never taking her eyes off the Russian assassin. "I know you. You're an assassin. Your specialty is interrogation. I won't talk to you."

The woman looked carefully at this girl, who knew about her though they had never met. "And who will you talk to?" she asked.

"Banner," she answered.

Natasha shrugged. "Bruce!" she called. He stepped back in the room.

"Yes?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. Natasha stood up.

"You try talking to her," she said, exiting the room and heading for Stark's files. It was time to do some research on this mystery girl.

I relaxed a bit when Natasha left. I didn't feel comfortable with her around me. Bruce sat down in the chair Natasha had just vacated, and I watched as he took a pair of glasses and placed them on his face. He looked up at me, his dark brown eyes kind and warm.

"So Katie," he began, his voice calm, "Why don't you let me see how bad your wounds are? If you lose much more blood, it could be very bad for you. The amount you've already lost is unhealthy. I'm amazed you're not suffering any majorly ill effects from it."

My head tilted a bit, and I blinked as a reply formed itself in my head. "I've had worse," I said truthfully. Being captured by Nazis outweighs being slashed by a switchblade, although being stabbed isn't the best thing that could have happened.

"Be as that may," he replied, a faint smile on his lips, "We still should treat your injuries before they become too serious."

"Do I have to take off my coat?" I asked, feeling my muscles tense up. I was more than ready to fight my way out of here if need be, although I would prefer not to.

"Not unless it becomes the difference between your losing your life and keeping it," he answered, smiling wryly. "If it comes to the difference between life and death, would you remove it?"

I nodded and lifted my shirt again, hands shaking. He leaned forward and shone a flashlight on my side, instructing me to lie on my back, which I did. His hands were cold, and he gently probed the cut on stomach and the area around it. After a few minutes, he sat back, his face grim.

"What is it?" I asked nervously.

"You need surgery," he answered tersely, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"What?" I asked disbelievingly, sitting up.

"You need surgery. Your cut is still bleeding, and it's deep," he replied blankly, retrieving his supplies and returning to my side. He pushed me back onto the table, leaving no room for argument. "If you don't receive medical attention, you will die."

I paled, and I nodded, my mouth dry. "Okay."

"Alright," he said, pulling out an anesthetic mask. "I need you to breathe this in."

"What?" I nearly shrieked.

"This is a kind of gas that will help you to fall asleep so you will not feel pain while I sew up the afflicted area," he explained.

"I know what Anesthesia is, and no."

"What? You—" he began anxiously.

"I said 'no'," I answered angrily, trying to sit up. "I'll take pain medication, but I'll be awake. I'm not going to be out cold in a stranger's house while he has access to anything that could cut me open."

He pressed his lips together, frowning. After a minute, he nodded, his eyes finding mine again. "Alright. Take these," he handed me a couple light blue pills, "And lie still."

He went to work stitching up my wound while I laid back on the table. I was very uncomfortable, but I stayed still. The medicine worked remarkably quickly, but I could still feel the pull and tug of the needle through my skin, and it made me sick.

"Dammit," he said some time later, the blood draining from his face. He had started to pack up, removing his bloodstained gloves, and gone to make sure the stitches were secure. When he had, his fingers had brushed up against another gash on my back, one that I had been hoping that would be small enough for him to ignore.

"What?" I asked, clenching my teeth. Despite the painkillers, I was still in a lot of pain, just not nearly as much as I would have been in.

He looked up at me and held up his hand, which was scarlet. I the blood drain from my face as the realization dawned on me that I was about to be discovered, and that there was nothing I could do about it. My heart rate picked up as I was faced with two choices: take off my jacket and exposed my true identity to this stranger, or bleed out in said stranger's laboratory.

"How bad is it?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain calm. I sat up and bit back a scream of pain. I tried to play it off, but Banner wasn't fooled.

"I can't tell how bad it is because of the jacket," he answered, pursing his lips together. "You said you would take it off."

I closed my eyes, drew my knees to my chest, and nodded, fear flooding through me. I fought back hysteria as flashes of memory surged through me, sending adrenoline pumping through my veins. "Take it off. But please…" I was begging, hysteria rising through me as I felt his hands on my shoulders, sliding the blood-soaked material off my arms and off my body. "Don't kill me," I whispered. I felt him freeze next to me as I wrapped my arms around my knees, burying my head in my arms. H_e's going to kill me—_

"Who are you?" he whispered, wonder in his voice.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha frowned as she searched thorough S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files, finding nothing on the girl that had shown up on their doorstep. No children had been kidnapped, no agents had gone missing, and there were no records on the girl. She paused and wiped her forehead, sighing.

_So she's clean, then. _She exited the page and sat back in her chair, a humorless smirk crossing her face. _Unless she's like Steve and is decades older than all of us._

She blinked. That... wasn't impossible. In the last year she had met gods and supersoldiers. Anything was possible, including another person frozen in time.

She went back to the computer, its soft hum the only other sound besides the clicking of the keys. "K-A-T-I-E," she spelled quietly to herself, typing the girl's name into the computer. The room was dark except for the blue glow of the screens.

A file came up on the screen, and she scanned it quickly, a satisfied smile growing on her face. Gotcha.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body rigid with fear as flashes of memories flew through my head; images of chains and needles and blades; pain; darkness; screams of agony—_I can't go back, I won't, I'll fight him if I have to, I know I'll lose, but I have to do something—he'll kill me, he'll torture me, he'll experiment on me, he'll—_

"Katie?" he asked, his voice warm.

_Can't trust him, must get out, must run._

_But he was kind to me—_

_It doesn't matter; he'll kill me anyways—_

Fight or flight? That question raged in my mind as my body became coated in cold sweat, my breathing uneven and shallow. I began to shake, gasping for breath.

_Fight._

_Flight._

_Fight. _

"Katie!"

_Flight. _

_ Fight._

_ Flight—_

"Katie!"

My eyes shot open and I leaped forward, snapping my wings out and nearly knocking Bruce off his feet. I ended up standing on a different table on top of piles of papers and folders, which made my footing uneven. My injured leg shook with the effort of holding up my weight. My breathing was shallow, and adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my whole body shake. I was coated with sweat, and I couldn't get enough air. Bruce stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. His hands were spread in front of him as proof that he held no weapon. My wings buffeted him back a bit and kept me hovering in the air enough that all my weight wasn't totally on my leg.

_He's tricking me—he's going to trap me and hurt me—I won't be able to escape this time—_

"Katie, please, I promise not to hurt you, just calm down. You're still hurt, I haven't finished the surgery, please," his brown eyes were pleading with mine. A small whimper left my throat as my gaze darted around the room, searching for an exit. "I know what it's like to be hunted. To want to run, but not having anywhere to go. I won't do anything to you. I'll protect you. Just please, calm down."

His voice soothed me, and my wings lowered me to the floor, where they folded back neatly against my back. Slowly but surely, I climbed off the ground and slowly limped back to Bruce, my arms wrapped around myself. I stopped when I stood in front of him, and I looked up at him, feeling lost and scared.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling ashamed of my actions. I wasn't sure why, but I trusted him. He hadn't attacked me. He hadn't hurt me.

"Hey, no, there's nothing to be sorry for," he said, smiling a bit. "You were scared. There's nothing to apologize for."

I nodded, still shaking. I sat back down on the table as he finished the surgery, and when he was done, I stood as best I could, gripping the table for support. I wore my tank top and jeans, one leg of which had been cut off, the other clothing having been removed for the surgeries. I looked at my clothes, which were soaked in blood and sweat. I bit my lip, trying to decide what to do. _They'll find me if I stay…_

"Do you want to stay here for a while?" Bruce asked, taking off his gloves and tossing them into the trash. "Until you're healed, that is."

I hesitated. "I don't… Well, you see—"

"Come on," he urged kindly. "Have you got anywhere to go?"

I shook my head slowly.

"Stay here. I'll keep you safe. I promise. The others won't be a problem."

I blinked. "The… others?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, somewhat unenthusiastically. "They're a rowdy bunch, but they're great once you get to know them."

I shook my head. I might have warmed up to Banner, but there was no way I was going to spend time with a bunch of 'rowdy' strangers. "I don't want to meet the others," I said firmly.

"They're not going to hurt you," Bruce started. I had a feeling he knew exactly what I had been thinking.

"Bruce," I said, cutting him off. "If you knew who I was… _what_ I am… you'd try and kill me too."

He shook his head. "I know enough." My heart warmed. "I'm not going to hurt you, and neither are the others."

"Bruce!"

We turned to see Natasha and a dark haired man standing in the doorway, glaring at me. I felt my body tense up again, and I backed up, hiding my wings from view. I recognized this man. I was friends with his father. "Hello, Katie, is it?" the man asked. A scowl disfigured his otherwise handsome face, and his eyes glitterd with anger. My heartbeat sped up, and Bruce stepped in front of me.

"Stark, please, stop."

"Who is she?" Stark demanded, pointing at me with his tablet.

"This is Katie," Bruce answered, keeping his voice calm and clear as though trying to calm down everyone in the room.

"What do you know about her?" the other asked, his gaze flickering to me.

"Enough," Bruce growled.

"I know more than enough, then," Stark replied flippantly. He turned on his clear tablet and began reading off it, and I shrank away from them as Bruce's shoulders tensed. "According to S.H.I.E.L.D., Katie here has, in recent years, blown up a sub and a mountain—" he paused for a moment, looking almost impressed. "How'd she manage that?" he wondered aloud. He then shrugged and continued. "—killed fifty people in a subway explosion, caused the crash of an F-15, made an—"

"Stop it," I growled, my voice low. I didn't remember doing most of that, but a few memories came unbidden to the forefront of my mind. I tried desperately to shove them away, burying them.

He glanced at me before begining to read off more, and I covered my ears as they began to ring with the sound of gunshots long since fired. "Stop it!" I screamed, both to Stark and to the ghosts haunting me. Everyone turned to me. "None of that was me," I explained desperately, my voice shaking. "I didn't, it wasn't, I just—"

"Really? Because, it looks like you," Stark said, showing me the tablet, which showed me doing all he said and more. I closed my eyes and felt a tear fall down my cheek. _It was me. But at the same time, it wasn't. I couldn't control what I was doing. They made me do it; I don't know how. But I was blamed for it, and I blamed myself._

I looked at Bruce and felt more tears slide down my face as my voice caught in my throat. "Please, Bruce, please believe me," I choked out, terrified. _What if he didn't believe me? What if he sent me back and let those—those monsters experiment on me again? I couldn't survive… not again._

"Look, we just need to ask you some questions—" Stark started.

I backed up and spread my wings out, tensing up and shaking my head wildly. "Stay away from me," I growled, scared.

"No need for violence," he said, discreetly reaching down to take something from his pocket. "Why don't we just—"

Faster than thought, I surged forward and flew into him, knocking him over into a table. I sprang towards the door, passing by Natasha, and almost slammed into the opposite wall before hurtling down a random hallway, my heart pounding in my ears. I took turn after turn, going up and down flights of stairs, trying to find the exit. The hallways were large enough that I was able to use my wings, although not as much as I would have liked. My leg burned, and the stitches tugged painfully at my skin. I saw a light ahead and flew towards it. I ran into the room and promptly slammed into someone, rebounding back onto the ground.

"Who are you?" he asked. I stood up, terrified, and stared at the three men in front of me. The one I had run into was very tall and muscular. His armed were crossed over his armored chest, and he had long, golden blonde hair and a short, scruffy beard. He wore armor and carried a large hammer, which seemed a bit strange to me.

The second had short cropped, dark hair and wore all black. He watched me with sharp, piercing eyes, and I supressed a shudder. A bow and quiver of arrows were strapped to his back.

The last wore jeans and a white shirt. He had had dirty reddish blonde hair and eyes just like mine. Oh my god. My heart stopped. _No, it can't be—_

"You're supposed to be dead," I gasped, my eyes wide. I couldn't breathe.

He frowned and glanced over at the other two. "Who are you?" Steve asked.

My heart shriveled in my chest. I spotted a balcony behind the men and felt a spike of hope. If I could make it out, I'd be free.

"I'm Katie," I said, managing a weak smile and waving a bit, inching towards the open door. "Sorry to bother you, I'll just be on my way—"

"Thor! Stop her!"

As alarm registered on the three men, I jumped off the ground and spread my wings, forcing my body into the air. I hovered above their heads for a moment before shooting towards the doors. Before I could make it, a pair of arms wrapped around me, yanking me back. I looked down and saw the hammer around my waist like a safety bar at an amusement park.

I began struggling, screaming, and thrashing as he pinned my wings to my back and flew back to the ground. By the time my feet touched the ground, I was in an all out panic. I managed to smash my elbow into the man's nose, and he dropped me, looking shocked that he had been hurt.

The second I was free again, I turned, but Steve had come up behind me while I wasn't looking and put me in a full-nelson. My wings were pinned to my back, my arms twisted behind them. I yelled, trying to pull away from him, but his grip didn't waver.

"What is going on?" he asked, anger in his voice. I flinched. I knew that voice. I know that voice. I hadn't heard it in seventy years, but there was no doubt in my mind of who held me right now. I could count on one hand how many times I had ever heard him this angry, and his anger had never been directed at me. Now it was.

_I'm screwed._

I stood still, my arms locked behind me as Natasha and Stark strode up to me. Natasha stared at me, emotionless. I resisted the urge to kick her in the face.

"Glad we could catch you before you left," she said flatly.

I ground my teeth, my hands clenching into fists as I stared at her, my mind spinning a thousand miles an hour trying to figure out how to escape. I pulled against Rogers, but he tightened his grip, and I desisted when it became too painful.

A whimper escaped my lips, but his grip didn't waver. I stopped struggling.

"Now," the archer said, sitting down on the couch and setting his bow on his knees. "Do you want to explain who you are and how you got in here?"

I froze, staring at him in shock. "What?" Fear surging through me. I shook my hair out of my face to see him better and to give me something to do besides tremble. I couldn't tell them who I was.

"Explain how you got here," he said calmly, his voice setting me on edge. "I'm sure we would all love to know."

"Where's Banner?" I grunted, pulling against Steve's grip again. I let out a small groan of pain as he tightened his grip, and I heard my left shoulder creak. I had been injured there years before; the wound had never fully healed.

Thor strode into my line of sight and frowned at me. Blood stained the edges of his nose. "What do you want with Banner?"

I raised my eyebrows at him, relaxing my shoulders in an attempt to relieve the pressure from them as I tried to figure out what to do. I decided on a diversion; it was better than being interrogated. "Who are you?" I asked. I looked around. "Who are any of you?"

Natasha stood. "We shouldn't have to answer," she began, giving me a suspicious look.

"I am Thor," the blonde man interrupted, his voice deep. He gazed at me solemnly, his blue eyes boring into mine. I looked away, unsettled by the look he gave me and suddenly very regretful about hitting him in the face. He didn't seem the kind of person one would want as an enemy.

"Steve Rogers," Steven said from behind me. I had a feeling he spoke more out of habit than because he had considered the actual dangers of giving his name to someone who had apparently stolen into his home and attacked his friend.

"I know who _you_ are," I muttered. I didn't think he heard me.

"What?" he demanded, his grip tightening painfully.

"I, uh, I—" I was stammering, nervous. He spun me around to face him, keeping a vice-like grip on my forearms. His blue-grey eyes bored into mine, and I felt very small. His grip on my arms was like iron; we stood inches from each other, face to face. I had never felt so far away from anyone.

"Well?" he asked, sounding angry.

"Steve," Natasha interrupted, looking at us interestedly, "Let's have this conversation later."

"No, we're having it now," he snapped, his eyes clouding in anger.

"Lots of people know who you are, Steve," one of the others pointed out.

"But she didn't say anything about them."

Something about me was setting him off, I could tell, but I didn't know what. I shrank away from him as much as I could, afraid. I hated seeing the angry side of him; it scared me.

"Steve, this is not the time," Natasha said firmly. "You can interrogate her later."

After a minute, he nodded slowly, his jaw locked. "Fine."

I twisted my head back, carefully keeping my eyes away from Steve's face. "Where's Banner?"

"Ah. That again," Steve said, rolling his eyes, "Well—"

"I'm here," he said, walking into the room and rubbing his hands together. "Steve, you can let her go," he said quietly, "She's no threat to us."

Rogers looked down at me, and then back over to him. "She broke into our home," he answered angrily. "You're not concerned by this?"

"She didn't break in," Bruce answered, "I brought her here."

"Why?" Stark asked curiously.

"A man stabbed her and left her for dead in the street," he replied testily, carefully keeping his gaze away from mine. "What would you have done?"

Stark looked away and cleared his throat. "Although we now can agree that she didn't break in," he said, avoiding Bruce's question, "the fact that she attacked me still stands."

"Oh come _on_!" I yelled, pissed. I pulled harder against Steve, planting my feet against the ground, which did nothing to lessen his grip, although doubt was beginning to show on his face. "I did not attack you! I just—"

"Flew into me?" he suggested innocently, folding his arms together. "Sent me flying into the wall?"

"It was a table, actually," I shot back, smiling innocently. Bruce smirked.

"So you admit to attacking me?" he said, blinking slowly.

"I admit to being provoked," I replied angrily, a sudden thought entering my head. _Why shouldn't I do the same trick twice_?

"Well," he started, "I—"

"You know," I said lazily, rolling my shoulder. It popped, and I felt Steve flinch. "This has been fun, but I'd really rather be tracking down the man who tried to murder me. So if you excuse me—" I snapped out my wings, effectively lessening Steve's hold on me, and leapt up using my legs to push off Steve's chest and break his grip on my arms. I flipped backwards and hovered in the air above their heads, keeping a close eye on Thor. He was smiling, impressed. "Again, it was lovely meeting you guys, but I really to have to go."

Watching me carefully, Stark pressed a button on his wristwatch, and I frowned. "What are you doing?" Thor asked Stark, frowning.

"Just making sure she doesn't—" before the words were out of his mouth, I was hurtling towards the windows. I slammed into the glass at full speed, and to everyone's surprise, it shattered. I hit the glass headfirst.

I blacked out, and when I opened my eyes I was less than fifty feet from the street. People were pointing up at me, snapping pictures with their cell phones, and videoing me. My heart leapt into my throat. I was on the run from a bunch of psychotic scientists who wanted to experiment on me. Being caught on camera wasn't the best option for me. I unfurled my wings and swooped upwards, missing the roof of a taxi by an inch. I flew higher, intending to land on a roof, but the shine of sunlight on metal caught my eye, and I pushed off the side of a building just in time to avoid Stark, who was by now dressed up in his suit of armor.

I saw the rest of the group either jump out the newly broken window or, more sensibly, run out the front door. I groaned in exasperation as I hovered in the air. _Will these guys _ever_ give up?_

Suddenly a huge force slammed into me, making my wings buckle in on themselves. I saw the street rushing up to meet me, and I closed my eyes and threw up my arms to protect my face right before slamming into someone's car. I rolled off the roof and hit the street hard, unable to breathe. I pushed myself up on my hands and knees before falling onto my side, my lungs struggling to get oxygen. After what seemed like an eternity but what really was a few seconds, I gasped and air filled my lungs. Not wasting any time, I scrambled to my feet and began limping away. Everything shifted in and out of focus, making me stumble and fall multiple times. I didn't see or hear any of my pursuers, though. A stinging pain in my side stayed with me the entire time; the possibility that I had torn my stitches was looming over me.

I made it to a back alleyway nearly a mile from the Tower and collapsed on my hands and knees. I retched, bile rising in my throat, and I felt my stomach clench as vomit forced its way out of me, sliding out of my mouth and onto the pavement. I fell to the side and clung to the brick wall, trying to make my way as far from the tower as possible.

I managed to get to an alley a block away, mostly crawling, but I still couldn't see straight. A shrill ringing was in my ears, and although it had faded, it still hindered my ability to catch anyone trailing me. After another block, my sight and hearing had focused, though they still were somewhat muddled. I heard the sound of footsteps and froze, pressing my back to the rough brick wall. I frowned, fear growing inside me, and stepped back, looking around, scanning the rooftops for anyone. I took another step back and froze when I ran into someone. I jumped forward and spun around, my heart in my throat. Steve stood in front of me, his hands outstretched in a gentle and supplicative manner.

"Hey," he said, looking surprised to see me, "I just want to talk."


	3. Chapter 3

I looked around distrustfully, watching for any shadows or sounds. "Where—are the others?" I gasped, struggling to keep the tremors from my voice as I leaned against the wall to stand up. I pressed a hand to my side and drew it away to see that it was stained in blood; I quickly tucked it out of sight. My stitches had torn.

"They're on the other side out town by now," Steve replied, "but I had a feeling you'd be here." He paused, watching me carefully. "Okay?" He asked.

I bit my lip, trying to decide whether or not to trust him. My mind screamed for me to run, to knock the man out and flee, but my heart was stronger. Memories of safety and kindness overwhelmed me, and I found myself nodding even though my instincts yelled at me for being a fool.

He sat down on an overturned crate, and I did the same, leaning against the wall. The alley continued to sway and buck, although less so now than before. It could have been the 40's again; we used to do this all the time and just talk. Granted, we each knew who the other was back then, but the feel of it still hurt.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, keeping a pressure on my side.

Steve and I sat a few feet apart, and I tapped my foot as I waited for his response. I began re-memorizing his features: the way his blonde hair swooped across the edge of his forehead; the way his eyes changed from grey to blue, like mine; the way his eyebrows scrunched together as he thought, and the way he stared at the ground as his mind formed a question. It was all so familiar, yet so foreign. It was as if you're suddenly living through a mirror after having lived in the real world your whole life; everything's in reverse, but everything's the same.

He finally looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine. "How do you know me?" he asked, frowning. I knew in my heart of hearts that even if this was some trick, some ploy to capture me, Steve still genuinely wanted to know me. And he really didn't remember me.

I broke our gaze, staring down at the pavement, my eyes tracing the cracks in the concrete. "You really don't remember?" I asked softly, glancing up at his face. He had been watching me closely, but he looked away when I looked up at him. Thunder rumbled softly above us, and the overcast sky was mirrored in his eyes.

"No," he answered, sighing tiredly. He sat back, glancing around. "No, I don't."

"Are you sure?" I asked, desperation growing inside me. I searched his face. _Surely he must remember something. _I felt my heart begin to break.

"Yes. I'm sure." He answered normally, but I knew he was lying. I had always been able to tell.

My eyes widened a bit and I tensed, my whole body jerking a bit as I shifted positions. "You're lying," I said, tilting my head slightly. My eyes flew over his features, searching for his tell. His right thumb was tapping out a rhythm on his left hand.

"No I'm not," he said quickly.

"Don't lie to me!" I stood up, angry.

As his eyes met mine I felt a pang of caution and tensed up once again, suddenly realizing I could be in a trap. I looked around. He remained silent, staring at the ground.

I turned, shaking out my wings. "Forget it," I muttered. "Thanks for wasting my time." I crouched down, ready to launch myself into the sky, but his voice stopped me.

"Wait," he said, his voice tired, "Please, wait. I don't remember you." I didn't move. "But I do remember something. Someone. I don't know if it's you or someone else, but I do remember something." Thunder rolled across the sky, much nearer now than it was before.

I remained standing as he looked back up at me, and as he stood I took a step back. I felt tense, knowing that someone could jump out at me and attack me at any moment. But at the same time, I had to know. If there was any chance for him, I had to know.

He stopped speaking, and I felt my heart stop as all the hair on my body rose up. "No!" I jumped forward and tackled Steve to the ground as a bolt of lightning struck where I had just stood. The force of the blast knocked me into a brick wall, and I lay curled up on the ground, taking stock of my injuries and struggling to catch my breath. I pulled my shirt over my mouth and nose, choking on dust. The rubble rubbed against my reopened wound.

I coughed as I stood, dust invading my lungs and making it nearly impossible to breathe. I couldn't see because of the grey cloud surrounding me, and all I could hear was a shrill ringing. I began coughing more and more violently, and as I drew my hand away from my mouth, I saw red stains covering it; I felt the taste of metal in my mouth. I looked down to see that my newly stitched wound had indeed torn open all the way, tearing through skin like scissors through tissue paper and sending warm blood gushing down my hip, soaking my pant leg and pooling in my shoe. I began stumbling away, using the brick wall as support. Black spots filled my vision, and I stopped, confused.

My eyes rolled back in my head as I crumpled to the ground, and my head cracked against the concrete. I tried to push myself up, but I fell back, darkness taking over just as a pair of boots crossed in front of me.

I turned my head groggily and felt it loll to the side. My eyelids seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and my head felt as if it were full of bricks. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and my skin felt gritty. My face was now resting on my hair, which fell over my shoulder. I recoiled at how crusty and greasy it was, and went to brush it away with my hand. I tried to lift my hand up, only to find it strapped down.

My eyes shot open as panic raced through my body like an electric charge. I tried my other arm, as well as my legs, and found that there were leather straps across my chest, hips, ankles, and wrists holding me down to a table. I began hyperventilating, my heart racing as suppressed memories boiled to the surface of my mind.

I began thrashing against the straps and started screaming at the top of my lungs. The sound made my skin crawl. It was the sound of pain, of madness, and it filled my world. I was screaming so loudly that my throat nearly tore; I was hysteric. I clenched and unclenched my fists, sobbing and shrieking. Many people have felt phantom pain; where an injury can be felt long after it is healed. I felt pain from years of torture, years of agony, and I couldn't escape it. It was engraved in me; a part of me. I screamed again and again, and my only thought was of escape.

The sound of a door opening sent my panic to a greater peak as flashes of doctors experimenting on me flashed through my mind. I shrieked as the glint of a needle caught my eye, and began struggling wildly when a hand grabbed my arm. In the haze of panic, it was impossible to tell who it was about to inject me, but I didn't care who it was. All I wanted was to get free. I felt the needle enter my arm, and almost instantly I felt my body go limp. As I headed towards unconsciousness, I heard my brother's voice, and I closed my eyes as a tear fell from one, knowing that he wasn't going to help me, just as he couldn't help me before.

Steve lay awake in bed, not able to sleep. _Something about the girl—Katie—is so familiar… but I can't remember what._ Guilt and unease gnawed at him. _Even though I tricked her, she still saved my life by pushing me out of the way of Thor's ill aimed lightning bolt. I didn't mean to deceive her; I really did want to talk to her… I didn't know that Thor was going to try and shoot her. Something else… I feel… pity for her. I don't know why, though. Something in her eyes makes me uneasy; she has this fragmented air about her. As if she's a glass about to shatter. At the same time, though, she's like a cornered animal; like an eagle, maybe, or a wolf. Something that would fight to the death in the hopes that it might be free rather than face captivity. I just wish—_

His thoughts were interrupter by a shrill scream. He jumped and nearly fell out of bed; it sounded like someone was being tortured.

Katie.

Steve sprinted for the door, not bothering to throw on a shirt. "Worthless Stark equipment," he growled, waiting for the door to slide open. He punched it, hard, denting the metal. Grunting, he pushed it open enough to make it to the hallway, and he stumbled out unsteadily before rushing towards the labs. The screaming never stopped.

As he reached the door to the labs, the girl's screams cut off, and as he forced open yet another door, he saw Bruce pulling a needle from her arm. Steve stormed up to Bruce as he turned around, and it took all his willpower not to grab his shirt and slam him into the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Steve growled, his hands clenched into fists. Katie was unconscious now, but he could see clearly where the straps holding her down had gouged into her skin. He shook in anger, and the urge to hit something grew stronger.

Bruce held up his hands as if to calm the Captain down; one of his hands still held a needle. That set him off. Steve turned around and slammed his fist into a stainless steel table, making a good-sized crater in the top. "She's a kid, Banner! Not an experiment! You can't just—"

He turned to see Bruce staring blankly at Katie, and his anger died when he saw how fragile she was. Her brown hair was matted with blood, and soot was smeared across her face. Tear tracks cut through the dust, making her appear much younger than she actually was. Steve placed his hand on hers, still shaking.

"Why is she here, Bruce?" he asked quietly.

"Tony wanted—" he started.

"Stark?" Steve repeated disbelievingly. "You're letting him call the shots?"

"Steve—"

"Maybe in a fight he can call the shots, but not here. Not when an innocent girl's life is on the line," he yelled.

"She's not innocent, Steve," Natasha said from behind the two men. They turned to see her standing, arms crossed, looking down at Katie.

"And you know this how?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D.," she answered calmly.

"Of course," he breathed angrily. _'B__ecause they know _everything_.'_

"She's as innocent as I am," she said, sitting down on the table Steve had just dented.

"What'd she do?" Bruce asked, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"She's fought in even more wars than I have," she said, crossing her legs. "And she's killed more people than most could bear to hear about."

"How?" Steve asked. "She can't be more than seventeen—"

"She's much older than that, Steve," she said, pulling out a small glass screen. "In fact, she's only a bit younger than you."

"What?" he asked, completely confused.

"You were born in, what, 1920?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, frowning, "How did you—?"

"She was born in 1926," she said, reading off a glowing glass pad, "in Brooklyn, New York. She father died soon after she was born, and her mother died when she was thirteen. She he had one brother, who was like a father to her and who protected her until he died in 1945. When she was eighteen, her brother, St—" she stopped abruptly, her mouth falling open as her eyes scanned he rest of the account.

"What?" Steve asked, standing. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "I need to see Stark. It says here that she was friends with his father; maybe he can speak to her."

She walked quickly out of the room, leaving Bruce and Steve alone with Katie.

Steve glared at the other man. "What the hell was that?"


	4. Chapter 4

_I ran into the room and made a beeline for the microphone. One of my brother's friends stood behind the chair, the general next to him. Peggy was in the seat, talking to my brother._ _I could hear him talking to Peggy and I through the radio system. He sounded strong, like he always was, but he was afraid. "There's not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down."_

"_I'll-I'll get Howard on the line. He'll know what to do," Peggy stammered, frightened. Not much frightened her, and that this did scared me._

_My brother answered back instantly. "There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York." There was a pause of about five seconds as he steeled himself to speak again. "I gotta put her in the water."_

_"No!" I murmured, realization dawning on me. "Steve, please don't do this. W-we have time. We can work it out." I was in tears. In the last few months, I had lost everything. I couldn't lose him too. _

_"Katie, right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Katie," his voice cracked. "This is my choice." I turned away, my hand pressed against my lips as an icy fear gripped my heart. "I love you, Katie," he said._

_"I love you too," I whispered, loud enough that he could hear me._

_"Peggy..." Steve said._

_Peggy leaned forward in her chair, as if she would be closer to him in doing so. "I'm here."_

_"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance," he said. I choked and pressed my hand over my mouth, tears beginning to fall down my face. Peggy was silent for almost ten seconds as she composed herself enough to speak._

_She slumped forward, despair in her eyes, "All right. A week next Saturday at The Stork Club."_

_The Stork club. It had been destroyed months before. I closed my eyes. Steve's breathing sped up. "You've got it."_

_"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?" Peggy asked gently. I could see the fear and love in her eyes, and I understood. She was in love with my brother, just as he was in love with her. She was crying, and he responded a few seconds later._

_"You know, I still don't know how to dance," he said. I clenched my jaw, fighting back a sob. I was supposed to teach him how to dance. We never got the chance, but I was supposed to teach him for Peggy._

"_I'll show you how," She said softly, a pleading note in her voice, "Just be there."_

_ There was a break again, and I stood frozen as I waited for him to respond. _ _"We'll have the band play something slow," Steve said, and I moved forward to tell him I loved him one last time, to thank him for taking care of me, for being my rock. "I'd hate to step on your—"_

_His voice cut off, giving way to static. I froze. My heart stopped as I stared in shock at the microphone my hand was inches from touching. H-he can't be gone. He can't, he—_

_ "Steve?" Peggy said, her voice catching. She tried to say his name again, but nothing came out. " Steve?" she choked._

_I felt my heart begin beating again. "Steve!" she cried._

_ I was in too much shock to cry his name; I couldn't move. My brother—he couldn't be gone. It's impossible. He promised. He promised he wouldn't leave me._

_Peggy began sobbing silently, and I turned and ran, not sure where I was going._

I stared up at the ceiling, the memory of that awful day playing in my mind. Cool tears fell down my face; my restrained hands could not wipe them away. The only light came from the glowing blue computer screens and from the shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window.

_I walked around in a haze, not sure exactly where I was going. I ran into people several times, not paying any attention as to where I went. I passed groups of men laughing, small groups of women talking quietly about their husbands or loves._

_I felt numb. I had no one to talk about. __My parents are dead. __The man I love is dead. My brother is dead. I have no one. No one is left._

_I could feel my emotions building up behind the façade I held, and I sped up. Now I remember. The door. I have to get outside. I have to see the sky._

"_Katie!"_

_I ignored the one pursuing me and began running. The footsteps behind me sped up, so I did as well. My legs ached, my lungs burned, sweat poured down my face, blurring my sight. The pain felt good; and rage fueled my flight till I reached the doors._

_ It wasn't until later I realized that it was grief, not rage, that spurred me on._

_ I shoved the door open and stood in the icy air, letting its cool fingers turn my sweat and tears to ice. I heard more voices behind me, and I began sprinting again, not knowing where I was going. What did it matter? I was alone. There was no one left to help me; no one left to care. So I ran._

I didn't know how long I'd been down there; it could've been a week; maybe more, maybe less. No one came to visit me, and I hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a long time. I had an IV drip, though. I hadn't had to go to the restroom, either. It's unnatural, like what happened to me before. Like I am. I'm not natural: I was almost a hundred years old, but I hadn't aged a day in over seventy years.

My wings were pinned down just like the rest of my limbs, my normally white feathers now limp and dirty. I hadn't felt the wind in forever—that was the worst. When Steve crashed, the thing that kept me sane was the sky. Seeing it—knowing that it was there. I had been on a mountain, closer to the sky than, at the time, I had ever been.

But now that I had wings… the sky was a part of me. It's a part of who I am. So being away from it for so long, well… it was almost worse torture than the pain of receiving my wings was.

I stared up blankly at the ceiling as the door slid open. I didn't want to see anyone, and I didn't want anyone to see me like this. I hated being weak, so being strapped down, helpless, was humiliating and terrifying. I closed my eyes as the intruder dragged a chair over to my table to sit down next to me. I shivered a bit—partly from cold, partly from fear.

"Your cuts are healing up pretty well," Bruce said, "But they're pretty deep still, so you shouldn't do anything to overexert yourself till they heal."

I didn't move. _ Is this some kind of joke?_

"Your wing," he said, lightly running his hand over the primary feathers of my left wing, "was broken when the lightning hit. I'm not completely sure how; maybe a brick or piece of shrapnel hit it… do you know?"

I didn't answer. Not out of spite—my voice gave out days ago from screaming. Though if I could speak, I don't know if I'd want to.

"Katie," Bruce lowered his voice as if sharing a secret, placing his head next to mine. I could feel his breath on my skin. "Stark contacted S.H.I.E.L.D."

My eyes snapped open, and I strained against my bonds, my heart racing like a bird's.

"Hey—hey, calm down," he said quietly, placing his hand on my shoulder and looking around nervously. "He didn't get through to Fury. He's busy with some new recruits; he said something about a plane crash. No one was hurt, but he still needed to check it out." He stopped for a moment to let me take it all in. "The point is that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know about you yet."

_Yet._

"Here's the tricky part," he said, "Now, Stark wants you locked up till S.H.I.E.L.D. can answer her call, but Thor and Steve helped me to convince him to loosen the reins a bit. However…" he trailed off as if unsure how to continue. I raised my eyebrows at him. "You'd have to wear these," he said, reaching under the table and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. They weren't normal; a blue light hung about them, making the lines on Bruce's face stand out in sharp contrast against his otherwise smooth skin.

I recoiled, trying to get as far away from the cursed weapon as I could. Not that I could go anywhere. "No," I breathed, my throat burning. H.Y.D.R.A. had made these. I would know them anywhere. I managed to breathe out the name of the organization, the sound a raspy croak.

"H.Y.D.R.A.?" Bruce repeated, looking down at them, frowning.

"Tesseract—" I gasped.

He looked down at the cuffs, the look in his eyes displaying his disgust for them.

"You don't have to wear them," he said, looking angry at himself for suggesting it. I didn't move. I needed to be free. I think he knew that, too, because after a few seconds he spoke up. "Will you... will you wear them if I have the key?"

I nodded, and he slowly undid the leather tie on my wrist, snapping the cuffs on snuggly before doing the same with my right hand. I moved to sit up as he undid the restraints on the rest of my body. Once I was free, he helped me off the table, but as soon as my feet touched the floor, my knees buckled, and he stood supporting me as I struggled to find my footing.

"You're covered in blood," he stated softly. He brought me to a bathroom attached to the lab. He undid the cuffs, telling me that he'd put them back on after I showered.

"There's a shower in here; there are towels, and a fresh change of clothes for you," he said. "You okay?"

I nodded and slowly made my way into the bathroom. After locking the door and peeling the blood-stiff clothes from my body, I maneuvered my way into the shower, turning it on hot and lying down on my side on the tile. As I lay there, eyes closed, I remembered my fiance and how he would take me to our special hill, where we would lie beside each other and look up at the stars. As the warm water washed over me, washing away the stains of death, I remembered how he held me in his arms, how he promised never to let me go. I could almost feel his arms around me, holding me close to his chest. I could hear his voice.

His voice, fading away as he fell away from me. _I remember how he fell—I was there, I couldn't do anything, I—_

I made a strangled, choking, gasping noise as tears began falling down my face to the bottom of the tub. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could have done, but I blamed myself for his death every day.


	5. Chapter 5

I sat at the bottom of the tub, staring at my wrists as the shower rinsed the purple conditioner from my hair. I hated being confined more than anything.

I stood slowly, blinking spots out of my eyes as I positioned my feet under me. I lathered soap onto my hands and slowly ran them down my body, feeling the way whatever fat I had previously had was now gone along with much of my muscle. I was skeletally thin. Running my hands over my thighs and down my knees to my feet, I realized just how badly I had been injured. Not only was my left calf still torn open—it was stitched up, but it still hurt—, my stomach, sides, and back were laced with stitches, which made me feel sick. Added to those injuries were the ones mottling my arms from my years of enslavement, including the burn scar that wrapped around my right arm like a sleeve tattoo. I felt like some sort of monster, like Frankenstein. I felt bile rise in my throat as I ran my hands over the thread stretching from the bottom left of my ribcage to my right hip. Doubling over, I retched, but nothing came up except a sharp, stinging taste in the back of my throat.

I turned and allowed the soap to be washed from my body, and once I was done, I stepped out of the shower, not bothering yet to turn the water off. I managed to wrap a towel around myself, and I stood in front of the mirror, watching my reflection as I combed through my hair, pulling on the snarls there. Leaning close to the mirror, I touched a strand of my hair, eyeing the color. It was like a backwards ombre—it started out a reddish-blonde and ended in dark brown. I sighed and searched through the cabinets, hoping to find more brown dye. I was not expecting to find dye remover. Biting my lip, I read over the instructions and, letting the towel drop, stepped back into the shower. I began coating my hair in the clear gel, watching as streams of dark brown dye drizzled from my hair and were rinsed down the drain. I continued for another quarter of an hour, waiting until all traces of dye were gone. Finally my hair was its normal hue, and I felt like a weight had been taken off my shoulders. For the smallest bit of time, I felt normal.

I turned off the water and re-wrapped my body in a fresh towel. I changed quickly into the clothing, being careful with my injuries. Among the pile of cloth were a few bobby pins. My eyes lit up, and for the first time in weeks, a smile pulled at my lips. I slipped a few into my pockets, waiting for the time when I could free myself and escape.

A moment later I opened the door, surprising Bruce, who had been about to knock.

"Are you done?" he asked.

I nodded. He gently put the cuffs back on my wrists, making them secure but not too tight.

"Do you want to go see the others?" He asked nervously.

I hesitated, biting my lip as I looked away. I finally looked back up at him, my eyes searching his. He reached out to place his hand on my shoulder, and I recoiled. It was nothing personal, simply reflexive, but I still did not want him touching me.

He put his hands up defensively. "I'm sorry. Are you ready?" he asked.

I didn't answer, just started limping for the door, leaving him to follow. He stepped up to me and put hand on my arm. I tried to pull away, but he stopped me.

"Follow me," he said softly, and I let his fingers graze the sleeve of my jacket as he let me out of the room and out into the tower.

-o-

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Stark said, looking up at me as I entered the main room. "Sad to see that you're all… tied up."

I bit my lip and lowered my head, letting my hair fall over my burning face.

"Stark," Bruce said sharply, his grip tightening a bit. "That's enough."

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, another voice reach my ears. "Bruce?" Steve strode into the room, Natasha right behind him. I looked up, unable to help myself.

His stormy eyes met mine, and I looked away, staring at the floor as my eyes began to sting. _Don't cry, don't cry—he doesn't matter anymore, he's as gone as the rest of them, he—_

"Katie?" he asked.

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. _He said he didn't remember, he said—_

"Can we talk?"

_Steve's gone, he's gone, he's not here, this isn't him, he's not—_

"Katie," he said gently. I looked up at him as a sudden wave of anger crashed into me. I staring into his eyes, expecting to give him a look of betrayal and pain he wouldn't ever forget, but I was stopped cold by what I saw.

He had bags under his eyes, stubble covering his cheeks. His voice sounded tired, and he looked like he would fall over at any moment. But his eyes… There was a struggle there. I could see it. A struggle between what he remembered and what he knew to be true. He knew who I was, but his memory—or lack of, rather—opposed him.

"Steve," I whispered, unable to help myself.

"Katie, I need to talk to you," he said, sounding desperate.

After a few moments, I relented, and I followed him into another room. I eased onto the couch, taking the weight off my injured knee, and began fiddling with a down throw meside me. I pulled a stray feather from it and winced. Something about having wings makes down comforters less appealing.

"I want to say that I'm sorry," Steve said softly. I said nothing, but sat still, turning the small feather over and over in my hand. I paused for a moment and stared down at the purity ring adorning my left ring finger. Steve had given it to me a lifetime ago; when he found out I was in love with James. "I didn't know that you were going to get hurt, I just…" his voice faltered. "I didn't…"

I didn't move. I didn't want him to see how much I was hurting, so I said nothing. I felt as though he was talking to me about past and current events, as if he was apologizing for leaving me so many years ago.

"Please, Katie," he said, his voice a whisper. "Please talk to me." I stared down at my hands, my eyes stinging. I blinked rapidly to keep the tears of anger back, but I couldn't. "I want to help you." I took a deep breath, hoping to calm myself down, but it was shaky, and when I let it out, a sob followed. I pulled the blanket to my face, struggling to contain myself, but I couldn't. My heart felt as though it was being shredded.

I felt his hand touch my shoulder, and I flinched away.

"Hey; you're going to be alright," he said softly. "You—" he stopped suddenly. "Where did you get that ring?"

I lifted up my head as he pulled my hands towards him, shaking as he intently studied my ring finger. His fingers trailed over mine, and a confused look crossed his face. "My brother gave it to me," I whispered, finally finding my voice. "A long, long time ago."

-o-

I rested on a bed in a new room, staring up at the ceiling. I was pretty much on house arrest; even if I weren't, I couldn't get out of here. Steve left after I revealed that my brother had given me the ring, and Natasha had escorted me back here. That was three days ago. The cuffs had not been removed.

I moved to stand at the window, looking out at the river. It was dusk; the dim lighting made it impossible to tell how filthy the river was. Closing my eyes, it wasn't difficult to imagine New York in my time, seventy years ago. Looking down from fifty stories up, most wouldn't have been able to see much, but I could.

I shuddered. Sometimes I feel that I would rather be wingless and blind then be standing here, hawk-eyed and winged, knowing that someone is after me who wants to experiment on me again.

I heard a yelp come from the street below me. Looking down, the five hundred feet seemed like five, and I watched as a man, covered in black from head to toe, began attacking a boy who looked to be my age. Well, the age I looked anyways. I panicked and rushed to the door, trying to force it open. I'd have more luck telling a mountain to move out of my way. I pulled a bobby pin from my pocket and shoved it into the cuffs, twisting it into the place the key was supposed to go. All the while, my sharp ears heard the sounds of the boy being hurt. I glanced at the clock; barely fifteen seconds had passed.

I growled in frustration; the cuffs weren't coming off. I tossed the bobby pin under the bed as I began struggling to open the window. Adrenaline pumped through my body, enough to make me throw open the window and leap out of it without a second thought to my newly healed wing.

The first three hundred feet, I was in a free fall, but the last two hundred or so, I was pointed straight down like a missile, aiming straight for the man, who held a knife to the boy's throat.

I screamed as I ploughed into the man, sending both of us to the ground. Gasping, I lay on my back, struggling to get air. I had landed on my wing and I could feel sharp pain sizzling up my it and into my back. It had broken again. My wings somehow ended up tucked under me, which was a problem.

I heard heavy footsteps and saw the man stride into my line of sight. He had shoulder length brown hair and wore a mask that covered the bottom half of his face, keeping all but his eyes and forehead hidden from sight. He knelt down and straddled my waist, pulling a knife from his belt as he did so. He brought it down quickly towards my neck, but I blocked it, catching the blade on my handcuffs. He grabbed ahold of them, forcing my arms above my head and pinning them to the ground. I struggled, whimpering with pain as he brought the edge of the blade to my neck and pressed it my throat.

I struggled against him and finally met his eyes, which were the only things visible to me because of the mask. Instantly I froze, and his grip slackened as my struggles ceased. Without a thought I yanked my arms free and slammed my cuffed wrists against the side of his head, knocking off the mask. Unfortunately, the blow barely fazed him, and he pinned me to the ground again, his face drawn in anger.

"James?" I gasped, my voice a hoarse whisper. I couldn't believe it. I had to be dreaming—but my heart knew this was real, all too real. The man I loved was pinning me to the ground, a knife to my throat, and I was in complete shock.

His expression didn't change. "Who the hell is James?"

I didn't answer, but continued to struggle, trying to get him and his knife off of me. He aimed a punch towards my head but I twisted out of the way just in time. Fear gripped my heart when I caught a glimpse of the crater caused by his metal arm punching through concrete.

He narrowed his eyes and it occurred to me that he was toying with me. He could have killed me minutes ago, but for whatever reason he was keeping me alive.

I managed to reach up with my legs and grip his neck, throwing him off me. I kicked up and landed on my feet, facing him. He stood still, watching me with some form of sick amusement. The boy was lying still on the ground, unconscious or dead, I didn't know.

"You've lost your edge, Barnes," I taunted half-heartedly, referring to the times we'd go out and spar while at boot camp. He taught me everything he knew, but near the end I was able to beat him when we had time to practice. Now… I guess we'd have to wait and see.

Faster than most could process, he came at me, intending to plunge a switchblade into my torso. I ducked to the side and grabbed his wrist, forcing it over my head as I swung around behind him. In half a second he was coming at me again, his face eerily expressionless. The edge of the blade caught my shoulder and I cried out, leaping back to avoid being slashed across the chest. "James, it's me!"

Taking advantage of my unbalance, the soldier leaped forward and slammed his elbow into the side of my head, knocked me to the ground. He pinned me there, his metal hand gripping my throat and cutting off the majority of my oxygen supply. "James—"

A strange combination of panic, relief, and anger surged through me, and I glared up at the man I loved in defiance. A tear ran down my cheek as I stared into Bucky's eyes, but he didn't tighten or loosen his grip. He could easily have crushed my windpipe, but he didn't. He just sat there, unmoving, leaving me enough air to speak but not nearly enough to survive longer than a few minutes.

"What are you waiting for?" I gasped, my hands tugging uselessly at his metal arm. "Kill me."

His other hand, which still gripped the switchblade, rose up and hovered above my chest. I closed my eyes and waited for the final blow.

It never came.

I heard a _thud_ and I opened my eyes as James fell onto me, unconscious. The boy he had tried to kill stood behind him, holding a brick and looking shocked at what he had just done.

I struggled to get out from under him, and the boy snapped out of his trance, helping to move James's body. When I finally managed to get free, we stood over him, silent. More tears streamed down my face, and I covered my mouth to muffle the sobs threatening to spill from my lips.

"Who is he?" the boy asked in a British accent. I glanced at him, surprised, and looked him over quickly before turning back to the man I had loved. The boy's bright blue eyes were wide and his light brown hair was tousled. He stood a few inches taller that I. I didn't pay him much mind; my attention was completely held by the man on the ground in front of me.

"I used to know him," I whispered, taking a shuddering breath. "A long time ago."

"But he tried to kill you," he said. "Why—oh, gosh, you're hurt!"

He touched my shoulder with his hand and pulled it away, stained with blood. I raised my hands to cover it up and for the fist time he noticed my cuffed wrists.

"Why are you…" he trailed off, frowning at the glowing cuffs, but I knew what he was asking.

"I, uh…" I spread my uninjured wing, wincing as the injured one moved, and his eyes widened. He reached out and touched one, his fingers gently brushing my feathers.

"Oh," he whispered, wonder in his voice. He looked down at me, eyes alight with excitement, "You're like me."

"What?" I frowned, my voice a bit stronger. "What do you mean I'm like you?"

"I mean, I don't have wings, but I have abilities, like you do," he said. He held out his hand for me to take. "I'm Eli."

I held up my cuffed wrists, reminding him that I couldn't shake hands. "Katie."

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, gesturing to the street. "Out in the open?"

"Saving you," I answered. "I saw you getting hurt, and I didn't want you t-to…" I stammered to a stop, freezing. The light in my room had turned on, and I could hear voices shouting. They knew I had escaped. Although technically I hadn't really escaped, I had gone on a rescue mission, I had a feeling that they would look at me the same way. Through the scope of a rifle.

"What?" Eli cocked his head, looking up. "Who are…" his eyes widened in realization. "You're in trouble."

I nodded, worried, watching as more lights flickered on.

My sharp eyes caught sight of Clint standing in the open window, an arrow nocked and aimed at me. His blue eyes met mine, and I felt my blood go cold. Without thinking I grabbed Eli's hand, pulling him along with me into the darkness. I pulled my wings in close, wincing when the injured one was jolted.

_Hawkeye never misses. We need to get away._

"Where are we going?" Eli asked, running beside me.

"I don't know," I admitted tersely.

"Follow me," he said, taking ahold of my hand and pulling me around a corner. We raced across streets and alleys, careful to stay out of the light.

"We're almost there," he whispered ten minutes later. We were much closer to the Tower than I liked.

"What are we doing here?" I whispered back, outraged. "They live right there!" I pointed to the Tower for emphasis.

"I know," he answered quietly. "But the last place they would look is right under their nose." I nodded and followed him around the Tower to a much smaller building. Noting my hesitation, he turned to me. "Come on," he said. "I'll protect you."

I raised my eyebrows. "I actually recall having to protect you," I pointed out, not trusting this boy enough to place my life into his hands just yet.

He shrugged and looked over at the Tower worriedly. "Then I owe you. Trust me; you need help."

Once more, I had no other options. I sighed and followed him inside.

There was no one awake in the apartment building, so our hike was completely unhindered. I did have a feeling that he was unhappy with me, though, since I make us take the stairs instead of the elevator. When we finally reached the penthouse, he opened the door and let me in before closing and locking it behind him.

The entire back wall of the apartment was covered in bows, quivers of arrows, knives, guns, and ammunition. I nodded warily.

"Impressive," I said quietly, standing in the middle of the room.

He nodded, taking off his jacket. "Thanks." His eyes flickered from mine to my shoulder, and his eyes widened. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said. He left for a moment, and then came back with a wet cloth and a first aid kit. He sat me down on the couch and slowly pulled down the sleeve of my shirt, exposing my injured shoulder. He glanced up at me as he wetted the cloth with Hydrogen Peroxide, "This may sting a little," he said before dabbing gently at the cut, wiping away the blood. I hissed in pain and tried to jerk away, but Eli had a firm grip on my arm preventing my escape.

Looking around for something to distract me from the pain in my shoulder, I began putting the details together, trying to figure out the big picture of this boy. First were his eyes, which were the same color as Clint's. Next was his impressive armory, consisting mostly of bows and switchblades. Add those to his 'special abilities,' and you have a much younger Hawkeye.

"You're Clint's brother," I said softly. He tensed for a moment and the hand gripping my arm tightened, and then relaxed. "It's okay," I said, trying to reassure him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He nodded, moving his concentration back to my slashed shoulder. "I know you're not. I also know that you're Steve's sister." My head whipped up, eyes wide, and my eyes met his. A slight smile played on his lips as he cleared away the rest of the blood and reached for some thread to stitch up my wound. "It's okay," he said, cleaning off the needle with rubbing alcohol. "Everyone keeps secrets. This will hurt," he added, holding up the threaded needle. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "How did you know?" I asked, gritting my teeth as the needle entered my flesh.

He chuckled softly. "Well, besides the fact that you look just like him," he said, stitching up the ugly cut with the skill of someone much older then he himself. "My brother showed my his files once; you were in them." I yelped as he tugged on the thread to tighten it; he had to drop the needle to keep the thread from ripping through the skin. "Don't move."

"But…" I wasn't scared of Eli; a part of my natural born abilities was that I could tell when someone was going to hurt me, and Eli wasn't. However, if there were a bunch of files floating around with my name plastered on them, shouldn't Steve have seen them by now?

"I ran from S.H.I.E.L.D. because they wanted to hurt me," Eli said softly, tying off the end of the stitching and reaching for a roll of gauze. "I've been running ever since."

I thought about how Clint didn't shoot me, even when he had a clear shot. "That's why he didn't shoot me," I said softly, looking over at the young man in front of me. "He saw you."

He nodded, gently wrapping my shoulder with the bandage. "I haven't seen my brother in years," he said. "But if it means that I'm free, the price is fair."

I nodded as he smoothed the end of the gauze down and dropped his hands, exhausted. He took off the surgical gloves and handed me a two pairs of painkillers and a water bottle. "Thank you," I said gratefully, taking and downing them.

"Of course," he said. He paused, looking unusually shy for someone who just performed surgery on the one they were speaking to. "Uh, would you like to stay here?" He asked, then rushed to clarify. "Just until your wing heals, and until you know it's safe to get away?"

"Sure. Thanks."


	6. Chapter 6

I opened the blinds the next morning and peered out. The sky was overcast, the clouds a deep purple, and thunder rolled overhead. There was no rain yet, but it looked like it could start pouring any second. I looked up at Stark Tower to see Thor standing at the top, his hammer pointed at the sky. .

I shook my head, smiling. He's looking in the wrong place. I can't fly, and he knows that. My eyes widened. _Of course they know you can't fly; Thor is there as a precaution. The others should be searching for you on foot._

I looked down to see Natasha and Steve on the street below going door-to-door looking for me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped as Eli pulled me back from the window, closing the blinds. "Katie, what are you doing?" he asked, clearly questioning my sanity.

I was shaking badly, and I was terrified. "They're here," I said, shaking. "Natasha and Steve—th-they're in the street, they—"

A knock at the door made both of us freeze and turn towards it. My hands were still cuffed together; Eli and I had stayed up till three in the morning trying to get them off, but nothing had worked. I looked around for a way out, but since the door wasn't an option and I couldn't fly, I had nothing.

"You stay here," Eli murmured, shouldering a quiver and grabbing a bow off the wall. I grabbed a switchblade, holding it in my right hand.

"What do you plan on doing with that?" he asked, exasperated.

"I plan on fighting," I shot back.

"Just stay here," he said, turning towards the door.

I followed behind him, ignoring his orders. He gave me an exasperated look and made his way to the door. A knock sounded again.

He turned to me, his blue eyes bright. "One," he mouthed, "two, three."

He threw open the door, an arrow knocked on his bow, and both of us froze when we saw Clint standing there, an arrow aimed at Eli's heart. Clint looked a bit surprised to see his brother, and I couldn't blame him; I knew how it felt to see someone after such a long time; someone you never thought you'd ever see again.

"Clint," I said sharply, drawing his attention to me. He aimed his arrow at me, and Eli growled angrily.

"No," Eli said, stepping in front of the point and aiming his at his brother. "You're not going to hurt her."

Clint glanced behind him, stepped inside, and shut the door, locking it behind him. Eli and I looked at each other, confused, as Clint sheathed his bow.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, speaking more towards me than Eli. "Especially you," he said, pointing to me.

"Hiding," I said, sitting down on the couch.

"Why here? Katie, you can fly. You should be a hundred miles away by now."

"I broke my wing when you ambushed me, and I re-broke it saving your brother."

Clint studied me carefully. "I'm sorry, but thank you," he said. "What did you save him from, exactly? There's not much that could take him down."

I resisted the urge to look over at Eli. "A man in black."

"Did you recognize him?" he asked.

"No." I ignored Eli, though I could feel his gaze burning holes in the side of my head.

"Are you sure?" Clint urged. I stood, my hands still cuffed in front of me, and strode to the window. I peered through the crack in the curtains and felt my heart stop as Natasha pointed to our building. She and Steve strode towards it, determined.

"They're coming," I said, ignoring him. "They're here."

"What?" Clint and Eli stood, mirroring each other's movements.

"They're about to come into the building," I said, beginning to shake. "Eli—is there any way out?"

He shook his head, worried. "Not unless you can fly."

"Sorry to disappoint," I said, looking around for some way out. Clint stood, watching me closely. _Clint. _ "You," I gasped, pointing my hands out to him. "Tell them I'm not here!"

"What?" he asked.

"Tell them you're here," I pointed out desperately, "searching for us. Tell them that you didn't find us. Clint, please?" I begged. If he said no…

"Alright," he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "For you, and for Eli."

"Why for me?" I asked, biting my lip.

"No kid deserves to be locked up," he answered. He clapped his other hand on Eli's shoulder and brought him to stand next to me. He looked from me to him, his blue eyes alert. "Take care of each other," he said. "I know you're a few years apart," I grinned, and a smile flashed across his face. "But you both are very similar. I think that you two could escape. Run away. I'll help as much as I can, but I can't directly defy S.H.I.E.L.D. You know this." I nodded. He turned to Eli. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the brother you wanted," he whispered. "But I do love you, Elijah, and I will protect you. Both of you."

Eli nodded.

"Clint?" I asked. He turned to me. "Do you know how to get these off?"

He shrugged. "The key, if you have it."

"I don't."

"Did you try using bobby pins?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "First thing I tried."

"Well… looks like you're gonna have to get the key. Who has it? Tasha? Stark?"

"Bruce," I said softly.

Eli interrupted suddenly, his eyes wide. "You have to go. They're a couple floors down, but it won't take long for them to get here."

Clint nodded. I wondered how he could hear that well. "Katie, find Bruce. Get the key. Stay away from Stark and Tasha. Don't let S.H.I.E.L.D. find you. You know Nick Fury?"

A brief memory of me scratching his face flashed through my mind, and I blinked. "We've met," I said carefully.

"Well stay away from him," he said, unlocking the door. "I don't know if he knows about you yet, but if you've met, I'm guessing he's already after you." I nodded, a lump in my throat. He opened the door. "Hide, both of you," he said. "And good luck."

He closed the door quietly behind him, and Eli grabbed my arm, pulling me towards the bedroom.

"Where are we going?" I asked in a whisper, my eyes wide.

"Under the bed," he whispered back. "At least, you are. I'm staying up here. If something goes wrong—" he stopped, listening. His eyes widened. "They know something's up." He pushed me to the ground and under the bed. "Don't make a sound," he whispered. He climbed into a wardrobe and shut the door partway, leaving it cracked so he could shoot through it. The front door creaked open, and I curled into a ball, making sure no blue light could be seen. Wait. I began putting the pieces together, a chill creeping down my spine.

_Light. __Radiation. __Gamma rays. __Bruce is an expert on radiation, as well as tracking it. __There's a reason they used these cuffs: t__hey're tracking me._

Cold sweat coated my body at this realization, and I felt my blood turn to ice as the doorknob rattled.

"Someone's in here," Natasha said quietly. I looked over at Eli from my position under the bed, trying to get his attention. His intense gaze was leveled at the door, and I returned my gaze to it as well.

"You think it's her?" Steve asked. I clenched my hands into fists, anger making my body heat up despite the chills coursing through me.

"Who else could it be?" she responded sharply. The doorknob rattled again. My breathing picked up as my body clenched in fear, and I looked up at Eli in time to see him release an arrow from his bow, aimed straight for the door. The arrow hit the edge of the door at full force, wedging it shut, and Eli leaped out of the wardrobe, dragged me out from under the bed, and ran to the window, pulling my behind him.

He slammed his bow into the glass, shattering it, and stood up on the windowsill, looking down at the grass two hundred feet below him. This window faced the river; there wasn't a street below us, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. He turned to look at me, noting my hesitation.

Because who wouldn't want to jump out of the window of a twenty story building with a broken wing?

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "Trust me."

I could hear Steve's grunts of effort as he repeatedly kicked the door, but I was frozen in place. "I—" I started, my voice much higher than usual. I was hyperventilating, panicking.

He looked behind me, his blue eyes widening, and I whipped my head around to see what had startled him. As I turned my head, the door flew inwards with a crash, the wood around the knob splintered into a thousand pieces. Steve stumbled through the doorway, and his eyes met mine for a moment before I felt Eli's hand close around my elbow, and felt my body being pulled out the window into a free fall.

"No!" I screamed, feeling my heart leap into my throat as I twisted my body to face the ground. I grabbed Eli's hand with both my own, which were still cuffed together. "Don't let go!" I yelled, the wind roaring in my ears. Fifty feet up, I braced myself and thrust my wings out to catch the wind and slow us down. I knew it would hurt, but I didn't know it would hurt as badly as it did.

I spread my wings, and as soon as I did, the wind jerked them up, slowing us down for a split second before something went wrong. Instead of pulling the two of us up, like what normally would've happened, the wind yanked up my right wing and caused my left to crumple in on itself, sending Eli and I into a spiral. A crazy thought popped into my head: that the only good thing was that this slowed us down, so that when we finally would hit, it wouldn't hurt as much.

We landed hard on the rocky ground next to the river, me hitting first. Eli was thrown over my head onto the rocks behind me. I landed with my wings on either side of me, but agony flooded my body, making the air taste of iron and making my mouth taste like blood. All I could hear was a shrill ringing in my ears.

I saw Natasha and Steve watching us from the window, but as I looked up at them, they disappeared, undoubtedly to come down and catch us.

Something's wrong though… the building's red. The sky's red… everything's red; the color of blood. I tried moving, but couldn't even turn my head. Acute, freezing pain raced up my spine, and my stomach twisted as I realized that my back or my neck was most likely broken.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't escape.

I heard Eli moan from behind me, and then he screamed in pain, the terrible sound cutting through the ringing in my ears. I heard his body hit the ground again. I felt my heart break as his agonized scream died away, replaced by his ragged breathing.

I couldn't move. I make a choked sound like a wounded animal and let out a sob. For some reason, no one was around, but I knew that Steve and Natasha would be here soon, and that Eli and I would be handed over to S.H.I.E.L.D. to be experimented on again.

My sob turned into a keening wail. I didn't even care. I was too far-gone to care. _You've been fighting for so long… _A soft voice at the back of my mind murmured, _maybe it's time you give up the fight; pass it on to someone else._

That's the spark that ignited my fury again. _No one else will bear my burden, _a stronger voice—my voice—replied,_ No one else deserves to go through what I did, and I will not leave this world until the bastards responsible for all this are gone._

My wail turned into a scream as I began forcing my body to respond. I couldn't move yet, but it hurt—that's better than nothing.

I tried to move but was still unable to do so. White-hot pain arched up my spine with every ragged breath. My hands remained cuffed in front of me; the force of the fall hadn't broken them. To be honest, that really pissed me off.

Clint suddenly appeared in my vision, Bruce right behind him.

Well. Wasn't expecting that.

Bruce knelt and took a key from his pocket, forcing it into the cuffs and removing them from my wrists.

"Bruce, we have two minutes tops," Clint said tensely. "You get Katie, I'll get Eli. Go; I'll meet you there."

Bruce nodded and picked me up, grimacing when I screamed in pain. "Got it."

Clint stood, Eli's body thrown over his shoulder. "Run."

-o-

Bruce came to the safe house and made his way inside; Clint wasn't here yet, which surprised him. The archer usually would've beaten him here.

He set Katie down on a couch; she had passed out while they ran here. She was surprisingly light, so he didn't have a hard time carrying her, but it was hard because she was obviously injured and he couldn't tell how badly she was hurt.

Banner went to his desk and looked through the serums and medicines there, searching for one that would wake Katie up and dull the pain she felt. He couldn't help but wonder how she had survived this long; he had known her for a few weeks and in that time she had received more injuries than he could count. How many times had she been hurt before?

He heard her groan from the couch and began moving faster, sifting through piles of notes, different colored pills and vials, and different medicines and vaccines. He finally found what he was looking for: a small vial, which contained a clear tonic, called the _infinity formula. _He had discovered it when going through Howard Stark's notes; apparently it had been used on Steve and another unnamed subject back in the 40's. The goal was to slow down aging; it had worked on Steve for sure, but this was a diluted serum. He wasn't sure what it would do, exactly, but he had tampered with it, and he believed that it could heal injuries. Maybe not the kind of "snapped-in-half" injuries, like a shattered femur or a lost limb, but, say, a broken bone? Sure. At least, he thought so. And based on the way Katie couldn't move… the infinity serum seems like her best bet.

The scientist frowned in concentration as he inserted a needle into the vial, filling it partially full and carefully setting the beaker aside. He had a good amount of the formula, but wanted to be careful. Between her and Eli, and between the people the Hulk could hurt… he couldn't be too careful.

He knelt down next to her and wiped a spot on her neck with an antiseptic wipe before inserting the needle in her neck and emptying the contents into her bloodstream.

As he stepped back, her body went rigid as if she had received an electric shock, and the door crashed open as she began to scream.

-o-

I'm passed out at some point when Bruce was carrying me to the safe house.

I was having a pleasant dream when I felt a _very _familiar pain course through my body. Seventy years ago, I was injected with this thing called the "infinity formula". While I was a prisoner, I was injected with it, and it had a similar effect as that of the super-soldier serum; I was permanently young.

I had felt a burning pain the first time I was injected with the serum, which slowed down my aging. Now a similar pain flooded through me, this one freezing, as if someone has injected ice water into my veins. I felt myself scream and arch my back, and I felt someone place their _very _cold hands on my shoulders, holding me down. I suddenly felt relief flood through me as the pain from my neck and back diminished, and I felt my body shudder as a signal resonated through my body.

"Is she alright?" someone asked. "She's shaking."

"She'll be fine; her body is accepting the formula and healing much more rapidly than our own could. Our main concern is your brother; help me."

I wanted to laugh out loud in relief. The serum was working. Whatever had just been injected into me… it was like the _anti_-infinity formula. I could feel my cells begin to live again. Well… they had been living before, but much more slowly. Now I was alive. I didn't only just exist anymore.

I opened my eyes and sat up, a smile on my face, "who injected me with medicine?" I asked, looking around the room. Bruce and Clint were bending over something on a table, and they looked up at the sound of my voice.

Bruce looked over at me, surprise written on his face. "I did," he said, coming over to me, rolling up his sleeves as he did so. "But it wasn't medicine, it was—"

"The infinity formula," I interrupted calmly, shifting to sit Indian-style on the couch. "I know."

"Wha—How…?" he asked, wonder in his eyes.

I sighed and looked down at my folded hands, thinking over everything that had happened because of that freaking formula. I could have gotten married. I could have had a life. "How do you think I've been alive this long?" I asked dully, twisting my purity ring.

"But how are you moving so suddenly?" he asked, sitting down next to me. "Your back was broken."

I winced at the reminder. Thanks. "I know. But I'm okay now. I'm aging again," I said softly, smiling widely at my hands. "Whatever you did to me… it undid the effects of the infinity formula. Thank you." I meant the thanks. I was so ready to be done… the voice in my head had a point, back near the river. I was ready to give up, which is something that I hate doing. But now that I was aging again, I knew that at some point my time would come, and I would pass on. I'm not the person who would commit suicide or go on a suicide mission just for the heck of it, but if this really were going to work… death would be a welcome thing. I'd get to go to Heaven, for one. And I wouldn't have to run anymore. I couldn't wait for that.

"I, uh, you're welcome, but—" Bruce stammered, obviously confused at why I was excited about the possibility of death.

"Bruce," Clint said sharply, snapping the two of us out of our conversation, "Eli needs your help. If you would give it, I would be grateful."

I felt a pang of guilt; I hadn't even thought about Eli in the midst of the whole "Hey I can age now" thing. I stood up and walked haltingly over to him, scared of what I would see. He was lying on his back on the table, his face ashen. I reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly in mine. I could feel his pulse against my palm, and a wave of relief crashed over me. At least he was alive. I allowed my eyes to travel down from his face to his torso. Bruce had cut off the torn up remains of Eli's shirt, revealing a puncture wound on his right side, near where his right lung would be. My heart jumped into my throat as he took a ragged breath; the unevenness of it made my own chest ache.

My gaze travelled down even lower, to his legs.

I retched, nearly vomiting onto him, and turned away, bile in my throat. His right femur had literally _snapped _in half; the upper section had pierced through both the skin of his leg and his jeans, tearing a hold in them and soaking them in blood. I was shaking with suppressed nausea, and I returned my gaze to his face before I could be sick. I remembered hearing about a basketball player… Kevin Ware, I think it was, who had jumped to make a shot during the game and whose leg had snapped upon contact with the ground. This was exactly like that, except that with Ware, it had been his tibia, and fibula, not his femur. Eli's leg started out straight, then bent down at the break, then bent down further at the knee.

I stroked his hair back with my free hand, my eyes glued to his face as my breathing became as ragged as his. I heard voices around me, but they were distant and jumbled as if I were on drugs. At the last minute, my mind registered that Bruce was about to stick a needle into Eli's neck. A needle full of what I called life serum. Normally called the infinity formula. On me, because of Bruce's tinkering, it had caused me to come alive again. If used on Eli, it would bring the same curse on his that I had suffered under for nearly a century. My mind suddenly went from slow-motion-silent-movie-mode to Blu-ray-high-definition-surround-sound-mode.

"No!" I screamed, grabbing Bruce's arm and forcing it away from Eli right as the tip of the needle touched his neck. "No," I repeated forcefully, blood pounding in my ears. My head hurt from seeing everything in such sharp focus. Stupid adrenaline. Sure it keeps you alive in a fight, but right now it's just annoying. "You can't use that on him."

Both men stared at me incredulously, shocked at my words.

"Katie, the formula healed you," Bruce tried to point out, his tone suggesting that I was a child he was trying to talk some sense into. Must I point out that I am the oldest person in the room by at least forty years? "We have to—"

"No we don't," I said irritably, still holding his arm away from my friend. "Bruce, the serum worked on me and healed me because I had already been exposed to the original formula. Howard Stark's formula," I added. Bruce lowered his arm, confusion on his face.

"Howard Stark…" he trailed off, looking at me carefully as if I were a puzzle he couldn't solve. No one moved. "How old _are _you?" he finally asked. He and Clint both watched me, waiting for an answer.

I frowned, thinking back. Let's see, Steve was born in 1920… I was born in… '26? That sounds about right. And if the formula was first used on me in '42… that would make me… "Eighty-eight," I said finally. My birthday was December seventh, so I was going to be eighty-nine this year. I should be dead by now, not stuck in my teenage body. I hadn't ever really mentally grown up, despite my age. I still think like a teenager.

"Eighty-eight," Bruce repeated quietly, the hand holding the needle hanging at his side.

"You're wrong," Clint said, finally unfreezing.

"How so?" I asked softly, glaring at him challengingly.

"Not about your age," he said, "but about my brother. He has been exposed to the infinity formula before."

"He—what?" I managed, dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?"

"Eli, my brother, _is_ my younger brother. But only by a couple years. He looks and acts so much younger than I that sometimes I forget how old he really is." He sighed tiredly.

"And you are…" I said coaxingly. What, could we actually be together? I mean, if he and I are close to the same age…

"I'm thirty-nine," he said. "Eli is thirty-seven. What I said before about kids not belonging in cages," He continued, "I meant it. Neither you nor my brother should have to be running. But that's the hand you've been dealt. My brother's been running since he was seventeen; you can tell a bit by his accent that he hasn't been in America for a while."

"What brought him back?" I asked curiously.

"I don't know," Clint said, running the bridge of his nose. "But what's important right now is that we give him the formula so he will get better."

Bruce raised his arm, and again I pushed it down.

"What now?" Bruce asked, somewhat amused. One look at Eli, however, and a grim look settled upon his face again.

"You can't just give him the serum and expect him to be okay instantaneously," I pointed out. "You have to set his leg—" my voice broke, and I cleared my throat hastily. "Or else it'll heal wrong and you'll have to re-break it."

Bruce nodded and set the serum aside. "Alright," he said, "Clint, come help me. Katie, stand aside."

I moved out of the way as the two men approached Eli. Bruce cut away the fabric around the injury, and I looked away, afraid that I would pass out. Clint held down Eli's shoulders, and Bruce went to set the bone. He frowned and looked down at Eli's left leg, which was uninjured, and motioned me to come over.

"Katie," he said hastily, "I need you to hold his leg down." I shook my head wildly, panic rising in me; clouding my judgment. "Yes, Katie you have to do this. If he wakes up, he will fight to get away, which will only hurt him more. I need you to hold him so he doesn't get more hurt than he already is. Understand?" I nodded, a bit shocked by his harsh tone. His voice almost didn't seem his… that sounded weird, but it sounded as if he were speaking with someone else's voice. I placed my hands on Eli's leg; one above his ankle, the other a bit above his knee.

"Ready?" Bruce said, his hands hovering above the protruding bone. "Go." He grabbed the bone and forced it down, moving the rest of his leg to meet it. Eli screamed, straining against me and his brother, sending blood everywhere as Bruce struggled to set the bone. He held it in place with one hand, the other grabbing a splint and strapping it to his leg. Eli still screamed in agony, and tears poured down my own cheeks as my nearly-healed injuries throbbed.

Bruce set his leg, grabbed the needle, and plunged it into Eli's neck, emptying the serum into his blood. Eli screamed again, and I remembered the icy flood of pain surging through my body with every beat of my heart, and I felt a shudder go through him, just as it had me. I watched in amazement as the wound on his side, which had been held together with butterfly bandages, closed, leaving only a scar in its place. I had been afraid that his lung had been punctured, but now as his breathing evened out, I felt that particular fear melt away. His leg straightened, and he relaxed a bit as the skin torn by his femur healed, closing the wound off. I took his left hand in my right and stroked his hair back from his forehead with my other hand, praying that he would wake up.

Ten minutes later, his blue eyes fluttered open, fixing immediately on my face. I smiled instantly, and he sat up (quicker than I would've thought possible for someone who had just been through such a traumatic experience) and wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

After what seemed like forever, he spoke, his voice muffled by the fabric of my shirt. "I'm sorry for pulling you out of the window."

-o-

I laughed shakily and hugged him back, relieved that he felt okay enough to joke around. I could feel myself shaking, and my face was numb. You know… like when you've been crying for a while or something and your face falls asleep? Like that. We pulled away from each other and Eli swung his legs over the edge of the table.

"Wait!" I yelped. I glanced over at Bruce, who had yelled at the same time I had. Eli looked confused.

"What?" he frowned, scrunching his eyebrows together. "Is there something I should know?"

"Um…" I trailed off, looking to Bruce to answer his question. I wasn't sure how Eli would react to the whole "Hey I can die now!" thing, so it was probably better someone else deliver the news. Not everyone was as excited about having an end as I was.

"To heal you," Bruce began, "we—" I cleared my throat pointedly, not willing to be thrown under the bus. "—_I_," he said, looking at me like 'you happy now?" "Injected you with a form of the infinity formula." Eli stiffened, his face hardening. I briefly wondered how long it had been since he had thought about it, and how it was used on him, whether he was willing or forced. "This particular version of the serum, however, does not slow down the aging of cells. It actually undoes the effects of the formula along with healing the one injected with it."

Eli's eyes clouded, and I could see unmistakable anger brewing in them. "And I was… what?" Eli said stiffly, his voice low and angry, "A lab rat?"

Bruce's face hardened as well, and his brown eyes narrowed. "No," he said tersely, "you were not. We saved your life. You may have noticed that your punctured lung has been healed, as well as you broken leg."

"I noticed," he said. I looked nervously at Bruce. Eli was heating up; I could feel his temperature riding. Not at an alarming rate, like the exploding people from a few months ago, but at a steady "I'm-really-pissed" rate.

"Bruce," I said softly. Every head turned to me. "Let me explain." He was doing a really crappy job, so I might as well try. I turned to Eli and sat on the table next to him. "When you pulled me out of the window," I began slowly, staring at my knees, which had become very interesting, "I think you forgot that I had a broken wing. Either that, or you were expecting a trampoline to be waiting for you at the base." I glanced up at him in time to see a fleeting smile flash across his face. He shook his head. "I didn't think so. When I tried to slow us down, the wind caught my wing and sent us into a spiral. When we landed, I hit the ground first and you flew over my head. I don't know exactly how you broke you femur, but—"

"Hitting the ground going over a hundred miles an hour tends to do that," Clint said idly, not looking up from his bow, which he was cleaning.

I cleared my throat, miffed. "Right. Well, I-" I cleared my throat again, unable to get the words out. "I broke my neck." Eli's eyes widened. "Bruce and your brother brought us back here, and I passed out at some point. Bruce got the infinity formula from Howard Stark, and old friend of mine."

"_Howard_ Stark?" Eli asked, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. "Isn't that—?"

I nodded, looking at our intertwined hands. "Anthony's father."

Eli snorted. "Anthony?"

I shrugged, a small smile tugging at my lips at the memory of my old friend. "I knew Howard for a few years," I said softly. "He helped me get away from H.Y.D.R.A. for a while, until he was recruited for the creation of weapons for S.H.I.E.L.D. After that, he couldn't help me anymore. I saw him, once, in the 90's, before he was killed."

"So how does Tony not know about you?" Clint asked, rubbing down his bow with an oiled cloth.

"Howard was a… complicated man," I said softly. "He opened up to very few even before my brother and I disappeared… and he and Tony, from what I have heard, had quite a complicated relationship."

Clint nodded. "You're right. Tony left after a while; he hadn't seen his father for years when he got the message that he'd passed."

I nodded slightly in agreement. I never understood the Starks' relationship. I would've never left my family, but Tony… he didn't really care.

"Katie? Could you explain the infinity formula to me?" Eli asked.

"The infinity formula was created soon after the Super Soldier Serum, by the earliest members of S.H.I.E.L.D. Please understand that at this point, S.H.I.E.L.D. itself was not even a thought. Those in charge used it on me—the idea of a female being a super soldier was unthinkable at the time." I scoffed. _They had no idea what women were capable of_. "They wanted to use the infinity formula on Steve, but by the time they got the all clear from the government, he had… disappeared."

"So they used it on you?" Clint asked. "And you were okay with it?"

"No," I answered softly. "I was exposed to a form of the formula when I was eighteen, which is why I look the same as I do now, but I wasn't subjected to the raw formula until I was nineteen. I was a prisoner for nearly fifty years, but I escaped in the winter of '91."

"Fifty years," Eli repeated in a whisper. "S.H.I.E.L.D. did this to you?"

I shook my head. "No. H.Y.D.R.A. did. When I wasn't being subjected to their procedures and experiments, I was either locked away or unknowingly used as a weapon." I looked over at Bruce and Clint, who both were watching me. "That's where the footage came from that Stark showed you," I said softly. "From them controlling me."

"That's why you were so frightened when she showed it to us," Bruce said slowly, "Because _you_ knew that you had committed the murders unwillingly, but you knew that we wouldn't under stand that you hadn't been in control. It was you, though."

"It was my body, yes," I said, "but not my mind. I remember much of what happened while stuck in that hell-hole, but I do not know all that happened when my body was enslaved. I can recall bits and pieces during the day, but most of the answers come at night, when I am too vulnerable to make out their meaning."

"You mean your nightmares," Bruce said quietly to me. I nodded, embarrassed.

"I can't tell the difference from my memories and my dreams," I said softly, looking back at my knees. "I don't know what's real anymore."

A beeping noise filled my ears, and Eli and I looked around in alarm. "We should leave quickly," Bruce said, looking up from a glass tablet in his hands, from which the beeping came from. "The others will be here soon."

I slid off the table and helped Eli off as well. "I'll take you two to somewhere safe, alright?" Clint said, slinging his bow over his shoulder. We nodded, and he strode to the door, pulling it screeching open, grunting. He looked back at us. "You coming?" He asked.

I turned and hugged Bruce. "Thank you for everything," I whispered. Turning away, I nodded at Eli and and followed him out. _Please, let this be the last time we have to run away, _I wished, running after Eli and Clint as we slipped through the shadows to, hopefully, freedom.


	7. Chapter 7

Clint ended up stashing us in a hotel in upstate New York where the Avengers would be less likely to find us. He stayed in a room across the hall from Eli's and mine, but left a monitor in the room just in case. I lay in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, as the sound of Eli's shower filled the room.

I absently brushed my fingers through my wet hair, remembering how Steve and I used to care for each other so much; how he would have done anything to protect me. Now he's trying to hunt me down and give me to S.H.I.E.L.D.

I wished that I could fly, but I couldn't because of my wing. Considering how it had been broken at least three times in the past few days, I wanted to give it as much time to heal as possible before I used it again.

"What are you thinking about?" Eli asked, walking into the room. He had changed into sweatpants and a white t-shirt from his apartment next to the Stark Tower; Clint had gone back and grabbed a bunch of clothing for him and I. I currently wore a pair of flannel pajama pants and an oversized black t-shirt of Eli's while my other clothes were being washed and dried in the corner of the room.

I sat up and rested my chin on my knees. "I just… Where will we go?" I asked softly. "We've each almost died twice in the last twenty-four fours, and the Avengers—as they apparently have been named—are after us."

He sighed and sat down next to me, running a hand through his damp hair, mussing it up. "I don't know. But here's what I do know: my brother isn't going to give us up, and neither is Bruce. Clint can be harsh sometimes, but you've gotta remember what he's gone through. Your brother will remember you eventually, and when that happens, he'll be there to protect you. As for Thor, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to hurt you."

"He shot a lightning bolt at me," I pointed out, recalling my comatose and nightmarish state afterwards.

He shrugged. "I'm sure it wasn't personal," he tried, spreading out his hands in an effort to appease me. I thought back to the nightmarish reliving of Steve's supposed death in my lightning-induced sleep and chose to ignore his comment. "He just thought you were on the wrong side."

I scoffed, remembering how I was locked up and strapped down to a stainless steel table the majority of the time I was visiting the Stark Tower. "Sure."

We both remained silent for a good, long while; there was no sound besides the sound of the dryer humming pleasantly and the bathroom fan whirring in the next room.

"I'm sorry, by the way," Eli said, finally shattering the silence. He stared down at his hands, keeping his bright eyes averted from mine.

I turned to him in confusion, drawing my knees up to my chin. "Sorry for what?"

He took a deep breath as if steeling himself for some great challenge. "For pulling you out the window," he said. I felt a wave of adrenaline sweep over me as my eyes darted over to stare at him. It was the fight or flight response, but I couldn't very well do either in this situation. I opened my mouth, closed it, repeated these actions several times, and eventually decided to allow him to finish his speech, my mouth held shut by my knees.

"I wasn't thinking straight. I was just trying to get out of there as fast as I could. I'm used to being on my own," he said sadly, the fingers of his left hand tracing over a pale scar wrapping around his right. "Not having to take care of anyone else. Most of the time I feel the same as I did when I was a child: scared and alone, a little kid on the run with nowhere to go."

I nodded in understanding, thinking back to my time evading Hydra after my brother's disappearance, to the time even before he went missing where I was approached and asked directly whether I would volunteer to be the test subject for the Infinity Formula. "I know how you feel," I replied softly. "I'm nearly ninety years old; I was a mindless weapon for half of my life who spent my free time either killing innocent people or being suspended in a vegetative state. Of the forty or so years I wasn't being used, half of it was spent growing up, and the other half has been spent running away. I still feel like the scared little girl who lost her parents. The same girl who watched the man she loved fall from a cliff. The same girl who listened to her brother die." I turned to Eli. "It haunted me for years. I listened to him _die_," I said, trying to make him understand the urgency I felt. "I heard the radio cut off, and my world shattered. I was captured and experimented on. My life had been a living hell. The only two things I never regretted was loving Steve, and falling in love with J—" I stopped myself from saying his name. "The man… that I loved."

"You've regretted everything else?" Eli asked. "Even your wings?"

My fingers grazed the feathers of my wings, which were slightly damp from my shower. "I would give them up in a heartbeat if it meant that I could go back; that my love would never have died, and my brother would never have forgotten me. I would give _anything_—" My voice broke. "I _would have_ given anything. But Steve… Steve is gone now. He doesn't remember me; he never will."

Eli shook his head and rested his hand on my knee. "Hey, don't say that—"

I pulled away, turning my head so he couldn't see the angry tears forming in my eyes. "It's true!" I exclaimed, pulling a pillow to my chest. "He went with Natasha to try and kill me."

"Us," Eli said softly. "Not just you. And they tried to capture us, not kill us."

I laughed humorlessly. "Please. Ms. Romanoff would shoot me point blank in a heartbeat should worse come to worse, you know that. She doesn't trust me. She saw my file, and she'd do anything to keep a threat away from her friends. Stark would kill me as well. Steve… he'd follow their lead, probably. There's nothing I can do to change that; I just have to live with it."

"You're wrong, Katie."

I jumped, nearly falling off the bed. Clint stood in the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were fixed eerily on mine, but he looked sad and weary all the same.

"What do you mean, 'I'm wrong'?" I asked, scooting back on the bed and pulling a blanket up around myself. "Steve clearly—"

"You may not know him as well as you think, if you believe he would shoot you. He's a good man."

I fell back in exasperation, mentally groaning in aggravation. "I don't think he would shoot me if he remembered me," I said, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. "But he doesn't remember me." I shut my eyes, blocking out the pain of rejection as best I could. Clint then said the last thing I expected to hear.

"He remembers something," Clint said, coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed next to his brother.

My eyes shot open and I sat up so quickly that I nearly butted heads with Eli, who had been leaning over me to grab a glass of water. I brushed him off and focused solely on Clint, who apparently wore his battle gear to bed. His blue eyes scanned my face for a reaction. "What did you just say?"

"I said that he remembers something," he said again. "Do you remember when you went and spoke to him privately a few days ago?"

I thought back to our conversation, reliving it in extreme detail.

_Stark opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, another voice reached my ears. The voice cut into my heart, and I kept my eyes trained on the ground, forcing myself not to acknowledge his presence. _

_ "Bruce?" Steve strode into the room, Thor right behind him. I looked up, loosing the battle, unable to help myself. Steve's stormy blue eyes met mine and I immediately looked away, staring at the floor as my eyes began to sting_.

Don't cry, don't cry—he doesn't matter anymore, he's as gone as the rest of them, he_—_

_ "Katie?" he asked. I froze, my heart a drumroll in my chest. _He said he didn't remember, he said—

_ "Can we talk?"_

Steve's gone, he's gone, he's not here, this isn't him, he's not—

_ "Katie," he pleaded gently. I looked up at him as a sudden wave of anger crashed into me. I staring into his eyes, expecting to give him a look of betrayal and pain he would never forget, but I was stopped cold by what I saw. He had bags under his eyes, stubble covering his cheeks. His voice sounded tired, and he looked like he would fall over at any moment. _

_ His eyes were what startled me the most: there was a struggle deep in his mind; I could see it. A struggle between what he remembered and what he knew to be true. He knew who I was, but his memory—or lack of, rather—opposed him._

_ "Steve," I whispered, unable to help myself. Simply saying his name made me feel like a little girl again; I wanted nothing more than to run into his arms; to know that nothing could happen to me as long as I was with him._

_ "Katie, I need to talk to you," he said, sounding desperate and confused._

_ I nodded slowly, my eyes never leaving his. "Alright."_

_ Steve led me into an adjourning room, where I sat on the couch, staring down at the feather-soft throw I was currently messing with. I pulled a stray feather from it and winced, pushing the feather back into the blanket. Sometimes I forget that I have wings, so seeing feathers used in pillows makes me sick. _

_ "I want to say that I'm sorry," Steve said softly. I said nothing but sat still, staring down at the purity ring adorning my left ring finger. Steve gave it to me a lifetime ago when he found out I was in love. Just to make sure I didn't forget. "I didn't know that they were going to hurt you, I just…" his voice faltered, and the rift in my heart grew wider. "I didn't…" I couldn't move. I didn't want him to see how much I was hurting, so I said nothing and allowed my heart to break. "Please, Katie," he said, his voice a whisper. "Please talk to me." I stared down at my hands, my eyes stinging. I blinked rapidly to keep the tears of grief back, but I couldn't. "I want to help you."_

_ I took a deep breath in the hopes of calming myself down, but it was shaky, and when I let it out, a sob followed. I pulled the blanket to my face, struggling to contain myself, but I couldn't. I felt his hand touch my shoulder, as I flinched away from his hand, partially out of habit and partially out of fear. _

_ "You're going to be alright," he said softly, pulling his hand away. I hadn't seen this side of Steve since… well, since Bucky died. "I—" He stopped abruptly, his fingers lightly grazing my left hand. "Where did you get that ring?"_

_ I lifted up my head as he pulled my left hand towards him, shaking as he intently studied the ring. His fingers trailed over mine, and a confused look crossed his face. "My brother gave it to me," I whispered. "A long, long time ago."_

I shook my head to clear it_. _"Vaguely, why?" I answered.

"Because your brother came to me after and asked me to find records on that ring. I asked why, and he said that it reminded him of someone he used to know," Clint answered.

"Here's what I want to know," I said, "How is it that Steve is frozen for nearly a century, wakes up, and remembers everything perfectly clearly except for me: his sister!?"

Clint shrugged helplessly, looking to his brother for help. "I don't know."

Clint's phone suddenly began ringing, and we all looked up in surprise. It was nearly two in the morning; no one in their right mind would be awake at this hour. Well, there are a few exceptions, including us and possibly—

"Natasha."


	8. Chapter 8

Eli and I froze as Clint stood, pressing a finger to his lips and moving over to the window. "Natasha."

I pointed to him furiously and turned to Eli, fuming. I began mouthing threats and questions at the poor guy, who held up his hands in surrender. _What the hell does he think he's doing?! They'll track us!_

_ Well if he doesn't answer, they'll know something's up! _He tried to reason with me, but I wouldn't hear it.

_ I don't care! I don't really fancy being strapped to a freaking examination table again!_

Clint continued talking but made the 'quit it' hand sign, glaring at us both. "I tracked the girl to upstate New York, but she got away. She could be halfway to Canada by now; I'm resting for the night here and I'll be out looking for her again in the morning." A look of panic crossed his face, and I stood up, moving towards him. Before I could reach him, he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back to the bed, pointing to Eli and then to me. His brother pulled me back, one hand covering my mouth and I tried to squirm away. "Alright. Got it. I'll see you in the morning." Clint hung up the phone and opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he could say a word.

"We have to get out of here," I said, yanking Eli's hand off my mouth and throwing his arms off me. "_Now_," I growled, daring either man to challenge me.

"Where will you go?" Clint asked, crossing his arms.

"I don't know—Canada? Anywhere but here!" I yelled, throwing out my arms in anger.

"They are on their way now; they have to stop and pick up Steve and Bruce, but they will be here by morning. Do you honestly think you could outpace them?" He yelled, causing my anger to rise.

I extended my wings in a flash, nearly knocking Eli off the bed when my left wing clipped his shoulder. "I can outfly them," I said, sounding confident and angry. There remained a shadow of doubt in my mind—my wing had only healed recently—but what other choice did I have?

"Really?" He asked, stepping closer so that there was barely any space between us. "Of the six of us, four are intent on capturing you, two are on your side. Of the four opposing you, two can fly. All are lethal. Do you honestly think you could escape them?"

"I have you," I said softly, wrapping my arms around myself as I channeled my anger away. "And Bruce and Eli."

"We won't always be there," Eli said, moving to stand in front of his brother. I stiffened, my brow drawing together. "What happens when we get into a battle; us against them. You know it'll happen eventually. They will be fighting to kill. Do you think you'll be able to kill your brother? Do you think you'll be able to kill anyone, for that matter?" Eli exclaimed, stepping up to me so that our bodies nearly touched.

Images of fallen men blazed through my mind. I shuddered as I recalled plunging a stake into a man's abdomen; pressing my foot to his chest to remove it; turning my head as his warm blood sprayed into my face and mouth.

"You know nothing about me," I snarled. My shoulders were set as if I were about to tackle him; my eyes were narrowed in anger. I swallowed. "I could kill them."

We stood face to face, neither saying a word. My blood pounded in my ears and the heat of rage radiated from my body. Both of us were breathing heavily and no one moved. Clint stood behind us, watching and waiting.

"No you couldn't," Eli said. I bit my lip and clenched my hands tightly before letting out a scream of anger and slamming my fist into the wall, making a good-sized crater. Breathing heavily, I removed my hand, shaking off the plaster dust and rubbing my bloody knuckles.

I turned back to the brothers to see Clint standing with his eyes closed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and breathing heavily.

"Please tell me that you are not so _stupid _as to plant that kind of evidence for them to find," he said, his voice rising at the end so that he ended up yelling. I felt myself flush in embarrassment; I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead.

"I wasn't thinking—" I started defensively.

"That is very clear!" He yelled, storming around the room.

"Why do you even care?" I screamed. "You met me a week ago, just leave! What are you waiting for?"

He turned and caught me by the neck, slamming me against the wall. His fingers squeezed my throat, making it nearly impossible for me to move or breathe. "You are naïve and selfish if you think that the only reason I'm here is for you," he hissed as I glared at him in defiance, my fingernails digging into his forearm. "I lost my brother once; I will not lose him again. However," He relaxed his grip and I fell back, breathing heavily. My throat ached. "I do stand by what I said before: children should not live in cages."

"Clint—?" Eli said, confused and worried. "What…?"

Hawkeye turned to his brother, eyes burning. "Stay with her. Do not leave this room. When morning comes, I'll meet the team outside and travel with them; hopefully they won't even come inside. Once we're gone, you take Katie and head in the opposite direction, but wait half an hour before going anywhere. Do you understand me?" He barked, staring at his brother. Eli nodded, and Clint's face softened. He bent down and picked me up, setting me on the bed. "In case we don't run into each other again, Katie, I'm sorry for what happened. It was the only way to knock any sense into you."

I didn't reply but sat rubbing my throat, keeping my eyes averted from his. He sighed and stood. "I have to go back to my room and get everything together. Stay here; under no circumstances are you to come out until after we are gone, understood?"

"Yeah, I got it," Eli said. The two brothers embraced before Clint left, and as soon as I heard the door slam, I fell back onto the bed, my hands at my throat. Eli ran over to the bed and tried to look at the damage, but I elbowed him away.

"I'm fine," I rasped, wincing at the pain in my esophagus. "It's just a bit sore."

Eli continued prying my hands out of the way, his brow drawn in concentration. "Then let me see," he said, tugging uselessly at my wrists. Relenting, I moved out of the way, and he drew in a sharp breath.

"Is it bad?"

He didn't answer but moved over to the freezer and withdrew a bag of ice. Grabbing a towel, a water bottle, and a couple ibuprofens, he made his way back over to me before wrapping the ice in the rag and pressing it to the bruise. "Here," he said softly, "this will help."

I nodded in thanks and held the ice up to the throbbing bruise, wincing at the cold as I swallowed the two red pills.

"What's it like?" he asked, lying down next to me on the bed.

"What's what like?" I whispered, rolling over to face him.

He moved onto his stomach and crossed his arms under his chest, holding himself up as he figured out what words to say. "Coming back after so long and finding someone you thought was dead, someone who loved you, but doesn't remember you."

I closed my eyes. "It's terrible," I said softly. "I spent seventy years a prisoner believing my only family was dead, and I finally got away and found him… alive, and happy, and…" I trailed off and turned to look Eli in the eye. "All those years I was a weapon, an experiment, I would fantasize about Steve coming and rescuing me. I would think back to when we were younger, before he was a super soldier. Skinny Steve," I smiled. "There's a huge difference between having a brother who would give his life for you and is really too small to protect himself, and having a brother who would give his life for you but knows that he's strong enough that he doesn't have to." Eli said nothing but simply gazed at me, understanding in his eyes. He didn't interrupt, and I was grateful; I needed this off my chest. "I am nearly ninety years old," I said sadly. "And I haven't aged a day since last I saw my brother back in the forties. I feel old, though. I read a book once, by an author that was older than I by the name of Tolkien. One of the characters was one hundred and eleven years old, and he said, 'I feel… thin. Sort of stretched, like butter spread over too much bread.' I feel like that. I went seventy years believing that my brother was dead, and I ran into him at the Stark Tower a week ago. He's mentally younger than I am by half a century. Do you have any idea how that feels?" I pleaded with Eli, almost crying. I was dumping all my thoughts on him, everything I had hoped or thought in the past century. "And he doesn't remember. If he remembered me, it would be alright, maybe, but he doesn't remember me. All those years spend fantasizing about him coming to rescue me, things going back to how they were before; gone. Obliterated. It can never happen. He's a soldier, and I'm a weapon," I said, burrowing under the covers. "And that's it."

Eli lifted up the covers and peered down at me, grief etched on his face. "Katie—you're not just a weapon. You're not a weapon at all! You were used, but that doesn't make up who you are. You're so much more than what you can see. You're a warrior, a sister, a freedom fighter, someone who never gives up no matter what happens."

I closed my eyes. _ You're wrong, _I thought. _I'm a weapon, an orphan, a murderer, and a coward. _I sniffed and rolled over so my back faced him, staring at the wall until I fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

_"Katie. You okay?"_

_ I sniffed and looked up into Steve's blue eyes. Although he was six years older, I was less than a head shorter than he was. He was nineteen; I was thirteen._

_ I shook my head, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. "No," I whispered, looked over at my mother's fresh grave. "I'm not okay."_

_ He pulled me into a hug and I hugged him back tighter, crying into his chest. Father died a little over eleven years ago; Mom had raised Steve and I by herself. Now she was gone, and we were alone._

_ "Hey," he said softly, pulling back and crouching a little so we could see eye to eye, "I'm not going anywhere. I will always be there to protect you, got it?" I nodded, shaking with sobs, and he pulled me into a hug again, whispering into my hair, "You're okay," "You're safe," and "I love you," while rubbing my back._

_ "I love you, Steve," I hiccupped, squeezing him tighter. _

_ He kissed my forehead. "I love you too, kiddo."_

"Katie. Katie, wake up."

Someone was shaking me, and I opened my eyes to see Eli sitting beside me, his hands on my shoulder and hip. He was watching the window, not me, so I knew he wasn't trying to find an excuse to touch me like other boys would have. Then again, he wasn't exactly a boy; he was thirty-seven years old after all.

"What's going on?" I mumbled, rubbing my face and sitting up. The first thing I noticed was that the bed I slept in was messy on both sides. I turned to him accusingly, suddenly wide-awake. "Did you sleep here last night?"

He flushed but pressed his hand over my mouth, shaking his head at me. The events of last night flooded my mind, momentarily making me forget about my memorial dream. He slowly removed his hand, bringing it to the bow he gripped tightly in his hands.

"Have they come?" I whispered, wide-eyed.

He nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the window. The blinds were drawn, but there was a chink we could see out of that looked out over the parking lot.

"Are they gone?"

He shook his head, and I bit my lip, suddenly terrified.

"Get dressed," he breathed. I nodded and crept to the bathroom, cracking the door as I threw on my clothes, making as little noise as possible. There were slits in both the shirt and the jacket for my wings. I moved back to the bed and crawled onto it, lying on my stomach beside Eli. I remembered how he could hear Natasha and Steve from several floors away at the last hotel, and so I stayed silent, listening for any voices.

"Are you sure she went this way?" Stark was saying. I closed my eyes to picture them all better. I could see them in my mind's eye, standing in the nearly deserted parking lot. All six of the Avengers were present, including my brother: I could hear them muttering.

"I'm positive," Clint replied.

"Why didn't you follow them?" Stark asked, skeptical.

"Because it was late, it was dark, and I was tired," Clint snapped. "Any more questions?"

_Keep it together, Clint, _I thought.

"Was there anyone with her?" Natasha asked.

"What?"

"Was there anyone with her?" she repeated.

"Natasha, why would anyone be travelling with this girl?" Stark asked, stepping in. "She's a fugitive and a murderer. Why would someone want to affiliate themselves with someone like that?"

I clenched my teeth and fists angrily; Eli gripped my arm tightly, warning me not to move or make a sound. _ Let me remind you, _I thought angrily, forgetting that he was lying for us, _that you are standing in front of two trained assassins and that you yourself are one that had your own weapons industry and are responsible for hundreds of unprecedented deaths. Do not talk about my slate being marked when yours and your companions' slates are dripping with blood._

"Maybe this other person is the same as she is," Stark suggested, "A coward, or a thief. They could be protecting one another."

"I don't think he's like that," Clint said casually, not recognizing his mistake until it was too late.

My eyes widened as Eli shut his, both of us frozen in shock and terror. I cursed both Clint and the Avengers, wanting nothing more than to run away and leave them to search in vain for someone who had completely dropped off the grid. Sadly, I couldn't do this, and I knew that even if I could, they'd never stop looking.

Natasha had picked up on his slipup. "So there is someone with her?" Stark asked, a smile in his voice.

I looked at Eli, panicked. _We need to get out of here, _I mouthed, shaking.

Elijah shook his head and grabbed my arm in a bruising grip. _Not yet._

"Last we saw, Katie had a broken wing," Stark said matter-of-factly. "She couldn't have gotten far on foot unless she stole a vehicle. There aren't any trains or busses this far upstate unless she decided to go South, but she's smarter than that; she knows we'd suspect it. She'd either have to have gotten a taxi, which we know she didn't do; stolen a car, which we should keep an ear out for; or is heading North on foot."

No one said a word, and I allowed myself to relax; they didn't suspect us of being here. _Yet._

"Then again…" Natasha said. Eli and I froze again. "Clint, what time did you say you got in?" she asked.

"I didn't," he answered.

"What time did you get in?" she asked, not sounding very friendly anymore.

I turned to Eli. "He's stalling," I whispered. He shushed me, cocking his head to improve his hearing. I tugged my arm in an attempt to make him let go. "We need to leave."

"Shut up!"

"Wait," Stark said. Both of us fell silent, me with Eli's hand once again over my mouth. "Be quiet, all of you, I heard something."

Eli released me, nocked an arrow to the string, and waited, tense as a bowstring, for anything to move. I kept a firm grip on a switchblade Clint had left behind, eying the door. I heart a _tap-tap-tapping _noise from the window and turned to see a metal robot-like-thing sitting on the inside of the glass, watching us with glowing glass eyes. I barely got a glimpse of its gold and crimson paintjob before Eli's arrow impaled it, shattering the window behind it.

Eli pulled me towards the door, but I pulled away, running for the window and keeping a firm grip on his arm. Before he could protest, I had jumped out of the window, Eli firmly in my grasp. I soared down, unfurled my wings, and flew straight up, barely catching a glimpse of the Avengers' stunned faces before rising to a dizzying height. I threw Eli into the air and swung around to catch him so that he was on my back, and he kept his arms around my shoulders, frantically muttering something under his breath.

We flew over a great forest; a glittering blue lake was before me, and a mountain range sat a ways ahead, illuminated by the rising sun. The light reflected off the lake, making it difficult to see, so I had to squint in order to tell where I was going.

"Odd that someone who didn't have any qualms about pulling me out of a window is scared of heights," I laughed, beating my wings harder to keep us airborne. Eli's weight strained my muscles, but I had to deal with it; I couldn't just drop him.

"Is it that obvious?" He yelled over the wind, gripping me tighter.

"Kind of!" I yelled, pulling suddenly into a nosedive to avoid a blast from Stark, who was tailing me. I turned into a corkscrew dive, weaving around as more explosions detonated on my tail.

I pulled out of the dive after two thousand feet, and I could feel Eli shaking. "Don't you ever do that again!" he yelled, sounding hysteric.

I glanced behind me and pulled around just in time to avoid Thor, who had somehow managed to sneak up on me. With several beats of my wings I once again was a mile in the air, and Thor predictably had followed me. As he drew level with me, I stopped flying and relaxed, letting myself fall past him. Eli was screaming in a very manly way and clinging to me for dear life. The earth spiraled sickeningly around me while the wind howled though my hair and feathers and made my eyes water. I laughed: this was my favorite thing to do in the world. Few would appreciate it; they'd become airsick too quickly. I remembered how I used to be afraid of heights; now I feared to be stranded on the ground.

"Elijah; I'm going to drop you!" I called to Eli as we approached the ground on the far side of the lake.

"What?!" He shrieked, gripping me even tighter. "No!"

"Trust me!" I yelled. "I'm going to get close to the ground, drop you, and run. You hide; I'll catch up with you later!"

I didn't give him the chance to answer.

One hundred feet up, I spread my wings, slowing at an alarmingly fast rate. Ten feet from the ground, I dropped Eli, who landed, rolled, and came up in a crouch. He immediately disappeared into the woods as I began flying faster and faster in the opposite direction, moving much more quickly without the extra weight. I now was flying in the direction of the Avengers, hoping to distract and disorient them before meeting up with Eli again. However, my plans rarely work out the way I want them to.

An explosion from in front of me nearly knocked me out of the sky, and I remained where I was, hovering for a moment, stunned. Tony Stark flew into view and remained in front of me, watching me silently. The two of us were still, suspended a mile in the air over the lake.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, catching sight of Thor flying around behind me. At this point, I knew there was no escape; I figured might as well learn something before fighting for my life again. "I was friends with your father; I never have done anything to you."

He laughed dryly and removed his mask, tucking it into some hidden panel. His face was calm, but his eyes were dark and angry. My wings flapped nervously, moving me back several feet. "I know that you were friends with my old man, once upon a time…" he said conversationally, cracking his knuckles. His eyes turned to steel. "I also know that you're the one who did him in."

My mouth fell open in shock and my wings stopped beating for a moment, making me drop several stories before they started working again. Stark dropped down to my level, making sure I didn't get away. Not that I could have flown anywhere; I couldn't breathe. "No," I managed, "I didn't. I would _never_—"

"Do you have an alibi for the night of December 17, 1991?" he asked, glaring at me. The fact that this date meant enough to him to make him memorize it struck me as odd. It occurred to me that he was stalling, but I knew that he also was angry, deep down, at the murderer of his parents. I did not kill them, but I had an idea of who did. James.

Where was I on December 17 of '91. _That was the week after I escaped_. "It was the week after I escaped H.Y.D.R.A.," I said, momentarily forgetting about the looming blond threat flying behind me. I rubbed my upper arms, trying to rid them of the sudden chill that had descended upon me. "I was running away from the ones who experimented on me."

Stark looked genuinely confused, though his eyes continually flickered back to Thor as if waiting for a signal. "You were experimented on?"

"I was a prisoner for forty-five years."

"When were you captured?" Stark asked, scratching his scruffy beard absently.

"1946," I answered. "The year after Steve disappeared." When Tony didn't respond, I continued. "You know who I am, Anthony," I said. "And you know who my family is. You know I didn't kill your father."

"America's Angel," he replied dryly. "My dad used to talk about you and your brother all the time before you both died; I just didn't know it was _you _that was the Katie Rogers. I didn't put that together till recently."

He lost me a while back. "Before I _died_?" I repeated, horrified.

"They found your body, sweetheart," he said, crossing his arms. "Didn't you know? The DNA was a match. So unless you have a twin sister no one knows about, you're legally dead."

I shook my head, baffled. "No. So… even if Steve did remember me, everything would say that I was… dead?"

Stark nodded. "For some reason he doesn't remember you, which is strange since you look exactly the same as you did in those pictures. Now answer me."

"Anthony," I said, tired. I needed to make this right; clear my name. "I didn't kill them. You have my word, I didn't kill them."

He looked up at me and then over my shoulder. He nodded to Thor. My heart skipped a beat and instinctively my wings folded in on themselves, making me drop from the sky. Thor, however, had learned his lesson. He was waiting, and he grabbed ahold of my arms as I dropped by him. I yelled and kicked, but I couldn't get free.

"Stop struggling," Thor said. "It will only be worse for you."

I ignored him.

Despite my struggles, he and Stark began flying to the ground where the others were. I writhed and squirmed, trying to get out of the pair's grip. "Please don't do this," I begged, looking anywhere but Steve. "Please, let me go."

Both men stopped, and we sat still again. I got the sense that Stark was messing with me similarly to how James had toyed with me when he caught up to me a few days before. Thor held my wrists behind my back. My wings were pinned between my arms and my jacket; I was dependent on Thor to keep me in the air. "Give me one good reason why," Stark said, looking down at the others.

I looked down at my brother, who was shielding his eyes with his hand, and then back at Stark. Tears stung my own eyes. "Because I can't face him." Stark started to turn away, so I began yelling. "I can't face him, knowing that he doesn't remember me. He thinks I'm a coward; a murderer! My own brother—" My voice broke and I began to sob. "He thinks… Please," I cried. "Don't make me face him again. He promised—I can't face him," I slumped against Thor, who was in some state of shock at my meltdown. Honestly, I was too.

"Your brother?" Thor repeated. He apparently hadn't been listening to mine and Stark's conversation, which I was grateful for. He looked down at Steve, then back at me. A small voice came from Stark's armor: "She's telling the truth, Sir. Her name is Katherine Rogers, born December 7 of 1926. Both her parents died before she turned thirteen, and her brother Steven Rogers took care of her until his assumed death in '45. It also says here that she was engaged to a James Buchanan Barnes, who died in a train accident."

"He d-didn't die in a train accident," I hiccupped. "He f-fell out of a train when w-we were stopping H-H.Y.D.R.A. H-he was a h-hero."

"What's happening up there, Tony?" Natasha's voice came through his helmet.

"Give me a second," he said, turning it off. He still didn't look too convinced with my explantion, but he hadn't given me over to S.H.I.E.L.D. yet, which was good. "What about all we saw on the tapes?" he asked. "You destroying stuff, killing people?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I was captured by H.Y.D.R.A. The founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. assumed they were gone because Steve had defeated the Red Skull. Arnim Zola, the bastard responsible for James's death, took—"

"Who is this 'Bucky'?" Thor rumbled frowning.

"James Barnes," I said softly, shifting my weight. "My fiancé." I took a deep breath. "Zola took me to the cavern where H.Y.D.R.A. had worked before, and he experimented on me, giving me something called the 'Infinity Formula'. He put these wings on me and somehow connected them to my mind so I could fly. In the fifties, he began strapping me to a chair and giving me electric shocks in the hopes that I would lose my memory. For a while, it worked. He and the other members of H.Y.D.R.A. would give me specific targets, and I would take them out." I closed my eyes. "Every now and then, I would wake up from the trance. I would fight. I would be punished if either I fought or I failed to complete a mission." I reached over and rolled up my right sleeve, revealing a deep, angry red burn scar that curled from my collarbone down to my thumb and covered the whole expanse of my arm. Stark's breath whistled through his teeth as he breathed in sharply, his face horrified at the burn. "I couldn't use my arm afterwards, and so they put me on ice until the mid eighties. I would be electrocuted over and over, and I would lose my memory and be the perfect weapon for as long as I was awake. When I slept, the nightmares would come. I would see the murders I had committed, and I would see all the good I had done as well, before being caught. As soon as I woke up, I was mindless again. As soon as I fell asleep, my mind would be plagued with nightmares." I sighed, exhausted from running. "In 1991, I escaped. I broke out of the trance and got away, and I've been running every day since. It's been twenty-three years, and I'm still running. Nick Fury tried to take me down once," I recalled, thinking back to our battle. "He spotted me and recognized me from an assassination attempt that had gone horribly wrong, which is how I got my scar. Fury tried to attack me from behind, but I heard him coming. He lost his left eye," I reminisced sadly. "It was him or me."

"And you chose to save yourself," Stark finished, sounding very high-and-mighty. I didn't have the heart to respond sarcastically, so I looked over at him sadly, the burden of my years weighing me down.

"No. I chose to save him. If I had chosen to save myself, he would be dead," I clarified, "And no one would know I was still alive. Because I spared him, he has had S.H.I.E.L.D. hunting me every day since. He shot me in the shoulder," I pulled down the shoulder of my top and jacket, revealing the puckered scar of a bullet wound that never truly healed.

Tony shook his head. "You've lost me here… you're trying to convince us to let you go, so you spill all your secrets and admit to being a murderer?"

My voice was sharp. "I'm not a murderer! My body committed the murders, not my mind. You have killed too, Stark," I reminded him solemnly. "Let us not point fingers just yet."

He threw his head back in exasperation. "What do you think, big man?" he asked Thor.

He and I looked at each other closely, and it was a minute before he answered. I could feel the frustration radiating off Natasha, who wanted to turn me in and get on with her life. "I too courted war when I was young," he said softly. "I was exiled, and my own brother tried to kill me. I understand much of what you've been through, my lady. I say we let her go."

"Natasha won't be happy about this," Stark said, glancing down at her.

"What if I were to escape?" I asked, biting my lip. "You could keep on 'chasing' me till I got off the grid, then you could go on with your lives."

"How would you escape?" Thor asked.

I looked at him apologetically. "Sorry about this." I kicked Thor in the chest, knocking the breath out of him and stunning him momentarily. Without pause, I folded my wings and dropped like a stone before soaring around and up, flying away. I didn't worry about anything going on below me. At least, not until a bullet hit my shoulder and passed straight through, embedding itself in my wing. I screamed and began falling but forced myself to stay in the air. I could hear shouts from below me but ignored them as my ears began ringing. I made it to about the center of the lake before my body began to shut down. My eyelids began fluttering and I dropped several stories before catching myself. _Where am I?_

My eyes rolled back in my head and I dropped like a stone. The impact of hitting the water was like hitting cement, and it knocked the breath out of my lungs as I skipped like a rock several times before sinking. _So this is it, _I thought groggily. _This is how I'm going to die._

At the word 'die,' I snapped awake and began panicking. I would _not _die here. I broke through to the surface and gasped for air, my lungs screaming. I thrashed around, trying to become airborne again, but my wings were waterlogged and dragged me down.

"Take my hand!" A familiar voice bellowed. I looked up to see Thor flying above me. I hesitated a second but swung my right arm, catching his hand. He effortlessly pulled me out of the water and held me bridal-style as he flew me to the other side of the lake.

"W-why are you d-doing this?" I asked, teeth chattering. We were a ways into Canada by now; it was quite cold despite being July.

He thought for a moment before answering. "Because I see myself in you, Winged Girl," he answered. "You are an exiled warrior finding her path. I would give you a chance to do what is right." We reached the far shore, where Thor landed and set me down.

"Thank you," I said, cradling my injured arm. "What will the others say when they find out that you've helped me?"

He looked back at the far shore. "There was a man there, with a metal arm," he answered slowly. "He took a shot at you; the others have given chase. I doubt they will notice that I am gone." He placed his hand on my good shoulder. "Go. Get away from here. Whatever help you had, find it."

"Katie!" Eli ran out of the woods behind me and slung my arm around his shoulders to help me stand.

"Stay with her," Thor said, turning away.

"Wait!" I called, stepping forward. He turned his head, his bright blue eyes piercing my own. "Will you watch over my brother?" I asked. "Will you make sue he's safe?"

The Asgardian placed his hand on his chest and bowed. "You have my word." And without another word, he rose into the air and flew away, a storm following in his wake.


	10. Chapter 10

Eli grabbed my right arm and slung it around his shoulders, keeping a firm grip on my hand. His other arm went around my waist and supported my as we ran through the woods. Several minutes passed, and I was breathing heavily, shaking. Besides being recently shot, I was soaked to skin and freezing; I was minutes from passing out. My mind was fuzzy; I still was mulling over my conversation with Thor. All of a sudden, Thor's comment about the "man with the metal arm" made sense, and I stopped, horrified.

"We have to go back," I said, pulling at Eli, trying to make him let me go.

He looked at me, stunned and concerned. "What?"

"It's James. Elijah, it's _Bucky. _We can't just leave him!"

We argued back and forth until Eli began dragging me. My words became slurred, but I what I said made total sense in my head. When I said it out loud, however, I couldn't help but wonder how someone could be so stupid as to wander purposefully into danger. I was torn; it was as if I had two personalities; one side that was logical, and one that was on the verge of passing out in pain. "We… we can't leave him," I said softly, craning my neck to look up at the clouds above me. _Hm… Fluffy._

"We can, and we will! He's tried to kill you at least twice now; we're leaving before he can try again!" He pulled me along, and I didn't resist; I mumbled incoherent words that meant complete sense in my head. The world around me turned fuzzy, and the pain that had been bothering me faded away.

_Why would we leave him? _

_ I love him. _

_ Why won't you listen to me?! _

_ Elijah, stop it! _

_ They'll kill him, Elijah, stop it! _

_ Let me go!_

"Come on, Katie," he grunted, pulling me along. "Just a bit further."

I giggled, vaguely aware of a stinging sensation in my shoulder as my worried thoughts melted away. "To where?" I asked in a singsong voice. I reached out to touch a flower growing by an aspen tree. "Look, its so pretty!" I laughed again.

"Son of a…" he cursed, pulling me along and doing his best to keep me away from Canada's flora and fauna. "Stay with me, Katie," he said, frowning.

"Are we going back to Brooklyn?" I mumbled, stumbling over a root. I giggled. _Root. Rooooot._

"No, we're going to a safe house," he said, pulling me around a tree I had been trying to hug. I frowned, falling into him.

"Why?" I asked, trying to swing my free arm as I walked. I frowned when it hurt, and glared down at it. _Bad arm, _I scolded.

"So your psychotic boyfriend can't hunt us down and murder us," he muttered under his breath.

-o-

A cabin came into view. I had no idea how long I had been walking, but I knew that my hair was dry and soft, so it must have been a couple hours at least. _How am I still awake? I need a nap… a nice, long, cozy nap, _I thought happily.

I giggled and stumbled towards the house. "Hey, it's our Brooklyn house," I laughed, staggering like a drunkard towards it.

He closed his eyes in exasperation as his grip on my waist tightened. "Yes, Katie, it's our Brooklyn house," he said. "Let's go inside."  
"Okay," I laughed. I let him lead me inside, and I sat on a table, swinging my legs and looking around at him as he closed all the blinds and locked all the doors and windows. I don't know why, though, it all was much prettier with the sunlight streaming through. Beautiful.

He came back over to me and had me lie down, arms by my sides. He held a cloth near my face; it smelled funny.

"Whass that?" I slurred, pointing.

He pushed my arm back. "This is going to help you," he said. A panicked and embarrassed expression crossed his face. "Sorry about this."

He held the rage to my face, and in seconds, darkness was all I knew.

-o-

_Steve and I sat side by side at the cinemas. He wore a tan suit; I wore a light blue shirt with a white blouse. He had just failed another physical examination test… he wanted nothing more than to serve his country, and to protect it. To protect me. _

_ I felt the same, but I couldn't because I was a young woman, and young women are supposed to be civilized, calm, and fair. They aren't supposed to be going around blowing stuff up. _

_ I turned my attention to the film._ "_War continues to ravage Europe," the film said, "But help is on the way! Every able-bodied young man is lining up to serve his country. Even little Timmy is doing his part: Collecting scrap metal. Nice work, Timmy!" Steve's face remained expressionless, and I looked over at him sadly. I knew he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with the knowledge that we was not able to help his country; that he did nothing while his friends died in service_. In fact_, I thought_, Bucky took his test several days ago… I wonder how he did.

_ Some idiot several rows ahead of us began yelling at the screen, "Who cares! Play the movie already."_

_ I glared angrily at the fool, who had drawn the attention of the crying mothers and hurting fathers in the audience, but Steve spoke up, his voice low so as not to attract too much attention. "Hey, want to show some respect?" He asked. I placed my hand on his arm to calm him down; I was afraid for him. He got in too many fights protecting me, and freedom in general; someday he would attract an opponent he couldn't beat. Although, now that I think of it, he couldn't defeat his opponents as it was. _

_ The film continued its message, but I wasn't paying much attention at this point. I glared daggers at the back of the mystery man's head. "Meanwhile, over seas, our brave boys are showing the axis powers that the price of freedom is never to high."_

_ "Let's go, get on with it," the same man yelled. "Hey, just start the cartoon!"_

_ Steve sat forward, angry. "Hey, you want to shut up?" he growled._

_ The man stood up, revealing him to be over six feet tall and in extremely good shape. _

_ "Together with allied forces, we'll face any threat, no matter the size."_

_ The man stormed over, grabbed Steve's collar, and began dragging him out. Steve looked over at me. "Stay here," he said, right before the door slammed shut behind him._

_ I ignored him, leaping out of my seat and running after him, cursing my skirt. By the time I reached the two of them, Steve was breathing heavily on the ground. I froze for a moment, not sure what to do._

_ Steve scrambled to his feet, only to be knocked down again. I regained feeling in my legs and moved around to the side of the man, who didn't see me. Steve grabbed a trash can lid like a shield, but the guy wrenched it away and punched him square in the face a third time. Steve stood again, his fists clenched as though he were in a boxing match. The man was clearly amused, and his smug expression made my blood boil. My vision turned red, and I growled deep in my throat. "You just don't know when to give up, do you?" He taunted._

_ Steve stood, breathing heavily. "I can do this all day." He swung at the guy, who caught his arm and swung back sending another blow to his face. He spun around and fell, hitting his head on the trash bin behind him. _

_ Before the coward in front of me resorted to kicking, I ran forward and nailed the man in the face, making him stumble to the side. I stood in front of my older brother, a snarl on my face. "Leave him alone," I said angrily, my hands clenched into fists._

_ He laughed at me and looked down at my brother, who was struggling to regain his breath. "You need a little girl to fight your battles for you?" he jeered._

_ He grabbed my shoulders and pinned me against the wall, smirking. I blinked the stars out of my eyes; my head had cracked against the brick wall, and I felt dizzy. "You're not that bad, beautiful," he said, grinning wolfishly. I didn't answer but brought my knee up, making him howl in pain. I pushed him back, hoping to get him away from me, but he grabbed my arm and hit me, hard, across the face._

_ As I hit the ground, I heard a familiar and very welcome voice growl, "Hey, pick on someone your own size." I looked up to see my oldest friend punch the bastard in the mouth and kick him hard in the rear, sending him scampering away like a frightened rabbit._

_ He bent down and helped me to my feet as my brother stood up. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern filling his blue eyes. I nodded, becoming aware that I was shaking with the shock of what had just happened; what would've happened if Bucky hadn't gotten here in time. He kept his hand on my shoulder in a comforting way as he turned to Steve. "Sometimes I think you like getting punched," he said jokingly._

_ "I had him on the ropes," my brother replied, shaking his hands to get rid of the mud and blood without ruining his clothes. Bucky, whom I now realized was dressed in an army uniform, bent down to retrieve a slip of paper Steve had dropped._

_ "How many times is this?" he asked, reading over it. He looked up at my brother with a sigh. "Oh, your from Paramus now. You know it's illegal to lie on your enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his lips._

_ Steve finally looked up and took in his uniform, which I had registered several minutes before. He frowned, and only I could see the hurt in his eyes at the realization that his best friend had been accepted into the army and he had not. "You get your orders?"_

_ Bucky nodded and stood up straighter. "The 107__th__. Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow."_

_ Steve shook his head and looked down as I felt my heart drop. "We should be going," he said, straightening his jacket._

_ The two looked at each other before Bucky grinned and slung his arm around Steve's shoulders, steering him out of the alley. He held my right hand with his left, and he smiled at me. "Come on, man," he said, "My last night. Gotta get you cleaned off," he added, removing his arm from his shoulders._

_ "Why, where we going?" Steve asked, not sounding very interested._

_ Bucky grinned and handed him a newspaper he had been holding. "The future."_

_ I moved and read over his shoulder about a science expo lead by some man by the name of Howard Stark. I looked over at Steve, who finally looked back at me for the first time since before I was hit. _

_ His eyes widened. "You're hurt," he said, stopping. Bucky stopped as well; we three stood together on a street corner as my older brother tilted my head back, examining the cut above my eye from where I had been punched. _

_ I squirmed away, flushing at the looks several people wee giving me. I hated unnecessary attention, and I wasn't hurt that badly. "I'm fine," I said, touching the cut and wincing a bit at the sight of the blood on my fingers. "It's just a little thing," I added. "It's not going to kill me."_

_ He looked uncertain. "I don't—"_

_ "I'm fine, Steven," I said, smiling. At the same time though, I couldn't help but notice the warm, wet feeling spreading out from the back of my head; a feeling which made my insides curl up with fear. _

_ "Katie," Bucky said, clearing his throat, "Would you… like to come to the expo with Steve and I? I can bring you, I'll bring a date for your brother…" he trailed off, and I felt my cheeks heat up. The normally silver-tongued James Barnes, stammering over asking a girl on a date._

_ I smiled, blushing, and forgot momentarily about the cut on my head. "Of course," I said. "I do owe you for saving me," I added. _

_ His smile faded, and he looked over my shoulder in the direction the coward had run, scowling. "If I ever see that bastard again," he muttered, a shadow coming over his features. He looked back at me, concern on his face, and he hugged me in a 'friendly' fashion so Steve wouldn't see just how scared he was for me, or how much he really cared for me. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again, his breath tickling my hair._

_ I nodded in his chest, feeling incredibly safe though I had been in so much danger minutes before. "I'm sure." _

_ And so it began. _

_ Both James and Steve knew it, and I was aware of it as well: my weakness. I would put myself in harm's way, end up being seriously injured, and then write it off as nothing so as to not attract worry. Some could call it pride, others would call it devotion. I didn't want anyone to worry about me, and I wanted to protect them as best I could, no matter the cost_.

I guess I am more like my brother than he thinks_, I thought. _

_-o-_

My eyes jerked open and I sat straight up, nearly knocking heads with Elijah for the second time in two days. My head, shoulder, and wing throbbed, and I thought back to the last memory I had.

Which was Eli holding a chloroform-soaked rag to my face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, moving to sit in a chair next to the bed I was on. I looked around, taking in the log walls and rustic interior of the safe house and doing my best to act as though my delusional giggling side had never made an appearance. I couldn't tell what time it was based off the sunlight; I vaguely recalled Elijah shutting all the curtains before making me pass out.

I ignored his questions, more bent on getting answers to my own. "What happened?"

"Can you move your arm?" he asked, ignoring them. I felt my already strained nerves break, and I exploded.

"I'm _fine; _where are we? Just answer my questions, there's nothing wrong with me!" I snapped, angry at everything from his questions to the green and yellow-checkered tablecloth on the other side of the room.

"You were just shot," he yelled back. "You spent the whole time here hallucinating and talking nonsense, and you've spent the twelve hours since we got here passed out. Answer _me_."

I sat stunned. Twelve hours? "I'm fine." I rolled my shoulder and yelled. "Perfectly. Fine!" I shouted, clamping my hand down on it and clenching my teeth. I felt thick padding on my shoulder and knew that Eli had stitched up the wound for the second time that week, and I did my best to forget that it was the same person—my fiancé—who had inflicted these wounds in the first place. Something else struck me, and I looked up, keeping pressure on my shoulder. "How did one rag of chloroform make me pass out for twelve hours?" I asked through clenched teeth, watching as he walked over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. He held up a bottle of Anesthesia, and I sighed. He came back and sat down next to me, examining where the bullet had entered and exited my shoulder before striking my wing.

He reached over and ran his hand over the wing that had been shot, and I hissed in pain. "The good news," he said, frowning in concentration as he parted some of the smaller feathers in an attempt to see better, "is that this—" he indicated the bullet wound in my shoulder, "—is just a flesh wound. The bad news is that, thanks to the other bullet wound, knife wound—courtesy of your boyfriend—" Here I glared at him, but he ignored me, "and something other wound I don't know about—"

"That was a switchblade," I clarified, recalling how I had taken the abrasion meant for my brother. "A Nazi soldier was about to plunge his knife into my brother's back; I jumped in front of him and took the blade instead."

Eli looked at me in wonder before turned back to the wound. "Right. Well, because of all that, there is a bunch of scar tissue built up in this general area. Because you haven't technically aged in a long time, and because of your agility and fitness, you've been able to retain the use of your arm fairly well. However, this may have been the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak." He sighed, and I frowned. "Because you've started aging again, I can already see buildup of scar tissue where a week ago there was none. Katie… you need to be careful, especially with this arm. If anymore tissue buildup occurs, you may not be able to fight or defend with this arm." He traced his fingers across my collarbone and shoulder, then down to my forearm. "This is where the majority of the tissue lies." He tapped the spot above my armpit where the joint is. He trailed off, not sure how to continue.

I sighed, tired despite my twelve-hour nap. "Anymore bad news?" I asked sarcastically, not expecting his response.

"Yeah." I opened my eyes, frowning at him. "The bullet is still lodged in your wing, and from the looks of it, it's wedged in your bone. There's no way for me to get it out."

I grabbed a pillow from behind me and screamed into it, not believing my misfortune. "Great."

He hesitated before speaking again. "That's not the worst part." I didn't move, waiting for him to tell me the worst. "The bullet, from the looks of it, was implanted with a tracking device."

I looked up, clenching the pillow so hard that the seam ripped. "What?!" I shrieked, panicked.

"Your boyfriend is tracking you," he said, ignoring my death glare. "And there's only one person we could possibly go to to have it removed."


	11. Chapter 11

I stared at Eli incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me."

He shook his head. "You know it's our only option."

"Eli." I waved my hands around, trying to help him grasp the magnitude of what he was saying. "You are asking me to go back _there_? We literally _just _got away! Are you insane?"

He shook his head, his features stony. "I'm not kidding, Katie. We have allies there. My brother won't let us be harmed."

I rubbed my forehead with my uninjured hand, letting my hurt arm dangle in my lap. I couldn't help but remember the last time, less than two days ago, when we trusted Clint to keep up hidden. That hadn't gone very well. "I don't…"

His temper snapped. "Would you rather be hunted down and killed?" he barked angrily, eyes darkening. "Because that's what's going to happen if you try and stay here."

I covered my face with my hand. My head pounded, and despite the long rest I had just had, I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and go back to sleep. I knew Eli was right, and I knew that Clint would _try _to protect us, but I also knew that the other Avengers didn't really trust him anymore. There was so much at stake. "Are you sure you can't remove it yourself?" I asked softly, my voice cracking.

The younger man shook his head and handed my a couple pain relievers, which I downed dry, wincing at the bitter taste. "I'm sorry. No. I don't know how; but even if I did, there would be every chance you would lose your wing."

He moved around me, wrapping my arm up in a sling. I let him, mind buzzing. Despite my fear of being discovered and killed by James, my fear of running into my brother again was greater still. I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that he couldn't remember me. I didn't understand why he didn't remember me, not when he remembered everything else.

A thought struck me, and I suddenly lashed out and grabbed Eli's forearm, squeezing it tightly. My nails dug into his jacket, but he didn't flinch. He raised an eyebrow. "Ow," he stated flatly.

"Eli, are there museums around here?" I asked. I probably sounded crazy, but I didn't care. I needed to know.

His eyebrows moved higher. "We're in the middle of nowhere," he reminded me.

I shook my head wildly, not caring that my hair flew everywhere. A piece landed in my mouth, and I pulled at it irritably as I tried to explain. "I know that… is there anyplace that would have an exhibit of my brother? I know there are some with WWII memorials; would my brother be in any in America."

Eli nodded slowly. "Yes," he answered. His expression cleared for a moment, then his eyebrows furrowed again. "Why?"

"Because if Captain America is there, don't you think that America's Angel might be as well?" Hope swelled within me, and I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "Or at least a mention of me? Steve doesn't remember me at all; wouldn't seeing it in black and white prove that I'm real? That I'm his sister?"

Eli looked dubious. "Maybe." He sat down beside me, resting his elbows on his thighs. "How would you plan on getting him to see it, though?"

I shook my head again, holding my hair away from my mouth. "First thing's first: we need to make sure I'm in the exhibit first."

He shook his head. "No. First thing we do is get that tracker out of your wing. Now come on; we've stayed here too long already." He pulled me to my feet and handed me a small stack of clothes. "You're covered in blood," he answered my confused look. "Change tops; there's a trench coat there to cover your wings. We can't fly, so once we reach civilization again, you should cover up."

Eli left the cabin to check on something, and I changed hurriedly before following him outside, shoving my bloody clothes into a knapsack I had found in the bathroom cupboard. It was almost dark out; everything was purple-grey with shadows. The birds and other creatures of the day were singing their final songs. Meanwhile, the owls and other creatures of the night were waking up and beginning to call out to one another. Bats swooped through the air above the treeline, their dark shapes just barely visible against the smoky-plum sky.

I pulled the door shut behind me and walked around the small Eli was on the other side of the house, pulling a tarp off a Jeep and pushing the top down, securing it to the cab. I moved around to the side and placed my hand on the handle of the driver's side door.

The car was quite new, I noted, and I whistled appreciatively, catching his attention. "Nice model. I remember when it first came out. Can I drive?"

Eli shook his head and shoved the tarp in the cab. "Not a chance."

"I'm almost fifty years older than you," I shot back.

He pushed me gently away from the door. "Not a very compelling argument, Granny. Get in."

I rolled my eyes but complied, and soon we were rolling along through the forest. The trees were spread thin here, so it was hardly any problem making it through. Eli turned the brights on, lighting our way. The top was down, and the cool air blew through my hair, freezing my ears. Eli had the heater on, though, and he reached behind his seat and pulled a blanket from the floorboards. I wrapped it around me, wincing as we hit a pothole, jarring the broken bones in my wing.

"Jeep's come a long way," I observed, glancing down at the dark paint job and trying to think of anything besides the many aches and pains screaming for my attention.

Eli nodded. "I remember the 80's models, but I prefer the '79 CJ-5 RENEGADE." We rolled out of the woods onto a beat-down dirt road and picked up speed, kicking up a cloud of dust behind us. Darkness had completely fallen by now, but Eli dimmed the headlights down to nothing, letting the natural light guide us instead. Despite the trees that loomed alongside the path, some moon- and starlight made it through the eaves, illuminating our way.

I nodded. This one had a similar body, but was an obviously newer model. "I prefer the '42 WILLIS MB," I commented lightly. "Wonderful workmanship." Eli chuckled, and I turned to face him, careful to mind my injuries. "What's so funny?"

He shook his head, a smirk still playing on his lips. "Nothing's funny, it's just…" he glanced at me, and then back at the road. "You don't look that old," he finished.

I raised an eyebrow. "Thanks. You neither."

He glanced at me, smirking. "Hey, I'm not _that _old," he retorted, a playfully affronted look on his face.

I laughed softly. "Sure, Gramps."

He shook his head, the laughter leaving his eyes. "I feel old," he said, his voice so soft that I almost missed it. "I shouldn't be stuck in this body, I… I should be _married_, with kids, and…" He hit the steering wheel suddenly and then grasped it tightly with both hands. The moonlight slanting through his hair made it glow white, and it revealed the fine lines in his face, making him appear his age for the slightest of moments.

I sighed, letting my breath out through my nose. "I know how you feel," I murmured. I ran my free hand through my hair, trying to untangle it, but gave up after the third knot. "I'm almost ninety years old. I don't…" I rested my head against the headrest as a tear ran down my cheek. I hastily wiped it away. "I'm out of place," I continued. "I don't belong in this time anymore than Steve or James do. We're abnormalities. We shouldn't be here. We should have lived and died a long time ago, but now we're going to live until the twenty-second century."

He looked over at me, pain clouding his eyes. "I'm sorry," he told me.

I shook my head stiffly. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah, I know, but… I'm still sorry that this happened to you. That it happened to me. At least we can age again," he muttered, relief flickering across his featured.

I nodded. There was that. We rode in silence for a long while with nothing but the purr of the engine and the sound of the wind to keep us company. We finally made it out of the forest. After another ten miles or so of silence, we reached an actual road, and we drove faster, speeding along the interstate.

"I'm going to kill them one day," I whispered.

Eli twitched, jerking his head a bit towards me. "What?"

"H.Y.D.R.A. I'm going to find them one day. All of them: everyone who did this to me, to you. And I'm going to kill them."

"Katie, it…" Eli swallowed. "It wasn't H.Y.D.R.A. that did this to me. Or to you. It was S.H.I.E.L.D."

"No. Maybe it was, for you. But it was H.Y.D.R.A. who did this to me, Eli."

He stayed silent for a few minutes, undoubtedly processing my sudden desire to go out and murder a bunch of people. The anger within me was so strong… I could feel my body heating up.

"I heard something," he said slowly. "I heard something when I was away. I wasn't just hiding from S.H.I.E.L.D.; I was looking for information about them. And I found something."

"What did you find?" I asked, frowning. I pulled my knees to my chest.

"I think… I think that H.Y.D.R.A. and S.H.I.E.L.D. may be the same thing."

I twisted around to stare at him, sure that I had misheard him. My ears were ringing. "What?"

"You heard me."

I sat back, shock rushing through my veins, muddling my thoughts. How could they be the same? I voiced my thoughts, and Eli shook his head. "It's not that simple, though."

"Then explain." My tongue felt like wood. I didn't understand. Not because S.H.I.E.L.D. was so good, but rather because Steve was working _with _them. Surely seventy years in ice wouldn't mess up his head too much, right? Well…

"It's more like… you know what a tree is, right?"

I lifted my eyebrows. "Like, a tree? A wooden, growing tree?"

He shook his head slightly. "Yeah."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course I know what a tree is, I'm not two." Actually, a two-year-old probably _would _know what a tree was.

"Anyway, you know how sometimes beetles and things get inside the tree and start to kill it? You can watch it die; it happens a lot in pine trees especially, when they turn brown and whither up. But just because it's filled with beetles and dying doesn't make it any less a tree than it was before."

I nodded. "What's your point?"

"I think SHIELD is like that. It's been eaten away and infested with HYDRA agents, and if you watch, you can see it fading away. But at the same time, it's still S.H.I.E.L.D. There are still agents and other people who genuinely want to do what's right. But at the same time, there are other people who just want to watch the world burn. Do you understand?"

I nodded slowly, thinking. "Do other people know?"

"I think some do. Nick Fury, for one. I think he's beginning to suspect, but I can't be sure."

I thought back to everything I knew about S.H.I.E.L.D., everything I had learned from when I was young to now. "What about the other council members? Do they suspect anything?"

He shook his head, looking very irritable. "I don't know. They tried to nuke Manhattan, if you'd forgotten."

"I haven't."

"They're not exactly perfect," he said softly. "And we're all human." He glanced at me. "Mostly. We all make mistakes."

"Some are worse than others," I growled.

He turned his head and stared at me. "You are the one who just announced that you wanted to hunt down everyone in H.Y.D.R.A. and S.H.I.E.L.D. and kill them. You are the last person who needs to be judging other people's actions right now."

I scowled. I didn't want to kill anyone. Not really. But those people need to pay for what they've done. I noticed suddenly that Eli had added S.H.I.E.L.D. to the list of people he assumed I wanted to kill. I didn't know how I felt right then. Angry for sure, but also sad and tired. I had lost so much because of H.Y.D.R.A. and S.H.I.E.L.D. both. Both were corrupted, and while one seemed worse than the other, neither really was _good_. S.H.I.E.L.D. was just the lesser of two evils.

We continued driving in silence. I leaned back and stared up at the stars, resting my body even though my mind was wide-awake.

"Where do you think the Avengers fall?" Eli asked after nearly five miles of silence.

I shrugged. "It depends. I mean, they want to kill me, so that's not good, but I don't think they're evil like H.Y.D.R.A. is. Some of them, like your brother, are good. Some are neutral. I think that Stark is one of those. He had reason to hate H.Y.D.R.A. and, to an extent, S.H.I.E.L.D., but he at least chooses to try and be good. Steve… he trusts S.H.I.E.L.D. because Peggy helped found it, I'm sure of that. Thor, I think, will do whatever it takes to protect Earth, whether it means working with or against S.H.I.E.L.D."

Eli shifted, moving to steer with only one hand. With his free hand, he picked up a water bottle and took a drink. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "What about Banner and Romanoff?"

I sniffed at the mention of the female agent but focused on Banner first. "Banner is good, I am sure of it. That's why we're going to him for help, right?" He nodded. "Romanoff… she sees in black and white. Either you're good or you're not. She's seen footage of me murdering people, but she doesn't consider the possibility that I was not myself—which I wasn't. She assumes I am evil without really knowing me."

"Aren't you assuming the same thing about her?" he asked. "I mean, you don't really know her."

"I don't need to."

He sighed. "She's my brother's best friend."

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Your brother doesn't have good judgment, then."

"Katie." His tone was warning, and I rolled over to stare out my window. "She has a bad past too, you know. The difference is that she was conscious for her 'training.'" I heard the disgust and anger in his voice and could help but roll over to look at him. "She was awake when they tortured her; when they changed her. She didn't have a choice to kill someone or not."

"Neither did I," I snapped, digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand.

Eli shook his head. "You didn't know what you were doing; you were being controlled, brainwashed. Natasha knew what she was doing, but life was on the line."

I looked away, glaring down at my hands. "You can trade your life for another. Murder isn't always the answer."

"It's hard to make that decision when you know that disobeying can get you tortured," he snapped. "Besides, I thought you wanted to kill everyone in H.Y.D.R.A. and S.H.I.E.L.D."

I let out a tired, exasperated growl. "Not _everyone_. Just the ones trying to hurt people."

"Make up your mind, Katie."

I sighed and closed my eyes, rolling onto my mostly uninjured side. "I'm going to sleep," I muttered.

"'Night," he replied.

"'Night." I closed my eyes, troubled, and within minutes fell asleep to the constant drone of the car engine.

My dreams began very soon after I fell asleep. The first few were a strange blend of memories from when I was a prisoner. I saw the faces of my captors over the decades. I watched them age, watched them be replaced by other, newer, crueler ones. These dreams were confusing and blurry, and very soon, a memory surfaced.

_Steve and I were sitting on the wooden steps outside a large tent. Steve had just had one of his 'Captain America' performances, which had gone quite terribly. He was staring dejectedly down at a notepad in his hands, sketching a picture._

_ I rested my head on his shoulder. I still hadn't gotten used to how much he had grown. My whole life, Steve had only been a little bit taller, if that, and had never been able to protect me. Now, however, he was huge. He had grown a foot and had gained a ton of muscle. He still was the same bumbling, kind-hearted, loyal Steve, though. He still loved me._

_ I looked down at his drawing and felt my heart squeeze painfully. The sketch was of a shield-bearing monkey in a stars-and-stripes uniform. It was riding on a unicycle on top of a tightrope. I sighed. I knew Steve felt useless and horrible right then. All he wanted to do was to help people, and he was stuck dancing around on stage like a monkey._

_ "I'm sorry," I whispered, sitting up to look at him._

_ He shook his head, blue-grey eyes staring blankly out into the rain. "Nah. Don't be. At least I'm here, right?" he gave me a forced smile. I rubbed his arm and rested my head against his shoulder again. After a moment of silence, he spoke. "I'm glad you're here, Katie."_

_ I was amazed that I was here. Apparently, since I was underage and an orphan, I was not allowed to be left alone by myself. Also, Steve refused to do the 'Captain America' bit if I wasn't there with him. "Me too."_

_ And I was. I didn't miss home, not really. I never really had friends back in Brooklyn, only Bucky, and he was over here somewhere. My spirits lifted at the thought of seeing him again, and I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face. It was impossible to miss, and Steve saw it before I could hide it. A grin appeared on his face as well. "What?"_

_ I shook my head, giggling. "Nothing."_

_ Steve poked my side. "C'mon, Kate. What is it?"_

_ I laughed, pushing his hand away. "No, stop!"_

_ He started tickling me, and I let out a shriek of laughter, squirming away. "Tell me!"_

_ "Hello, Steve. Katie."_

_ My brother and I froze, grinning, and looked up to see Peggy Carter standing before us. My brother stared at her as if she was an angel, instantly star-struck. _

_ "Hi," he breathed. I smiled and gave a little wave, somewhat irked that she had interrupted my time with my brother._

_ "Hi," she nodded at both of us._

_ Steve blinked. "What are you doing here?"_

_ "Officially, I'm not here at all," she admitted, moving to sit on his other side. She perched on a metal cabinet and stared out into the rain. "That was quite a performance."_

_ Steve chuckled dryly. "Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I had to improvise a little bit. The crowds I'm used to are usually more… twelve," he admitted. I snorted with laughter, and he smiled brightly at me._

_ "I understand you're 'America's New Hope'," Peggy said softly._

_ Steve nodded. His melancholy mood had returned, aided by the dreary, wet weather. "Bond sales take a 10% bump in every state I visit."_

_ Peggy rolled her eyes. "Is that Senator Brandt I hear?"_

_ Steve scoffed slightly. "At least he's got me doing this; Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab."_

_ Peggy raised her eyebrows. "And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey?" She gestured to his sketchbook, which he closed. "You were meant for more than this, you know."_

_ Steve started to say something, but hesitated. Peggy frowned. "What?"_

_ A sad smiled appeared on my brother's face. "You know, for the longest time, I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines, serving my country. I finally got everything I wanted… and I'm wearing tights." I laughed again, softly this time, and Steve gave my shoulder a squeeze. I stared out at an army truck that had just pulled up. Injured and shell-shocked soldiers were being pulled out on stretchers. A twinge of fear coursed through me, but I did my best to squash it. What if Bucky was somewhere injured? What if he was—I swallowed and shook my head. No. James was fine; his battalion just wasn't here. I remembered what it was, too. The 107__th__._

_ "They look like they've been through hell," I observed. _

_ Steve frowned down at me. "Language," he hissed._

_ Peggy, who hadn't heard him, answered me. "These men more than most. Schmidt sent out a force to Rosano. Two hundred men went up against him, and less than 50 returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured."_

_ My blood turned to ice, and my ears began to ring. I could hear my heart pounding away in my ears, and my hands began to shake. Instantly, every possible scenario, any kind of hurt or torture or death that could be experienced was running through my mind. Not James. Not James. Please, not James._

_ "The 107th?" Steve voiced what I was thinking._

_ Peggy noticed the panic on his face, noticed how both our faces had completely drained of color. "What?"_

_ Steve grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. My legs didn't seem to want to work, and so he supported me as best he could. He began had pulling, half carrying me towards the commanding officers' tent. "Come on."_

My eyes snapped open. The sun was just poking above the horizon on my left, and the sky was aflame with pinks and light blues and golds. I was drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf. The horror, the uncertainty, the fear; all of the emotions I had experienced then were tearing me apart. Eli was still driving, eyes locked on the horizon, and I curled back up as a tear fell from my eye. "Not James," I whispered, thinking about Bucky and wondering where he was, hoping against hope he would remember me. "Please, not him."


	12. Chapter 12

When I woke up for good, it wasn't by my own volition. A searing pain was tearing its way through my wings and into my back, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming. I clutched the balled up blanket close to my chest and bit down on it, curling in on myself. Eli was still driving. It was near noon, but the air was chilly. I was shaking and weak, and felt sticky and dirty even though I hadn't done anything. I was drenched with sweat.

"Just relax," Eli coaxed. He nudged at my shoulder, and I shoved him away weakly. "Take these." He handed me more painkillers and a sleeve of crackers. I ate as much as I could stomach, which wasn't much, and curled up again.

The blanket muffled my whimpers. I tried my best to ignore the small metal ball wedged against my bone; tried to ignore how it ground against it, tearing through blood vessels and grating against muscle. I screamed into the blanket, tears rolling down my face, as we hit a bump. My head was spinning. I coughed, crying out as it jarred my wing.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry—" Eli sounded worried. We sped up. "We're only a couple hours out, Katie, don't worry—"

Thunder rolled overhead. A few drops of icy rain hit the back of my neck, and I groaned. The top was down. Now either we had to stop and put it up or deal with it for the next few hours. Eli swore from beside me and pulled the blanket up to cover my head. I started coughing violently, shaking. I was miserable.

"I'm not going to stop," he promised. The engine roared and we flew forward. Several cars around us honked angrily.

The pain continued to build, and my coughing got worse. My nose started running. I began to drift in and out of consciousness, reality blending with dreams until finally I sunk into unconsciousness.

_I was squeezed in between Steve and the door of the car, staring out at Brooklyn. My heart was beating a mile-a-minute. Steve was about to be tested with the Super Soldier serum something-or-other, and I was terrified. Terrified something would go wrong, and my only family would be taken from me. Scared that it would go smoothly, and he would leave to go to war._

___"__I know this neighborhood," Steve was saying to Peggy Carter, who was seated on his other side. He too was looking out the windows at the brick buildings on either side of the road. "I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner."_

_ "And that cinema," I muttered, glaring at the offending building._

_ Peggy raised an eyebrow but continued staring straight out the front windshield of the car. "__Did you two have something against running away?"_

_ Steve shrugged. "__You start running they'll never let you stop. You stand up, push back... Can't say no forever, right? Besides," he added. "I couldn't let them hurt my little sister."_

_ Peggy smiled a bit and glanced over at my brother.__ "I know a little of what that's like. To have every door shut in your face."_

_ "__I guess I just don't understand why you'd wanna join the army if you're a beautiful dame. Or a beautiful—a woman. An agent, not a dame! You are beautiful, but..." He sighed and looked away. I covered my mouth and struggled not to laugh, both amused and embarrassed by his actions._

___Peggy was watching him out of the corner of her eye, seemingly both confused and pitying.____"__You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?"_

_ Steve chuckled, although his voice was bitter.____"__This is the longest conversation I've had with one, other than my sister. Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on."_

_ Peggy's voice turned gentle.____"__You must have danced?"_

_My brother shrugged, staring at his lap. "__Well, asking a woman to dance always seemed so terrifying. And in the past few years it just didn't seem to matter that much. Figured I'd wait."_

_ Peggy watched him, a curious expression on her face that I wasn't sure I had ever seen before. "__For what?"_

_ "__The right partner."_

_ We pulled up in front of an old pawnshop and climbed out of the car, following Peggy inside. The bell above the door tinkled merrily as we pushed it open, and an old woman appeared from the back room._

_ "Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?" she asked with a small smile, staring straight at Peggy._

_ The agent, who had been looking around her carefully, immediately looked back at the old woman, smiling. "Yes," she answered curtly. "But I always carry an umbrella."_

_ The woman glanced down and slid her hand out of sight behind a desk. A moment later, a hidden door slid open, revealing a hidden corridor. Men and woman bustled around, glancing at our small group as we strode inside. My nerves were building, and I clenched my fists to keep my hands from shaking._

_ We reached a small room that looked out over a much larger one. We crossed into the larger, where the experiment was going to take place. My breath came out in short, quick pants. Steve went to talk to Doctor Erskine while I stood to the side, pretending to not exist. If they didn't see me, they couldn't tell me to leave._

_ My brother finished and strode over to me. He used to be taller than me when I was younger, but I had shot up the last few years; he was nearly two inches shorter than I was now. I bit my lip, so afraid of what was about to happen. He placed his hand on my shoulder. "You should get out of here, Katie." He grinned half-heartedly and glanced at the viewing room behind me. "Go get a good seat."_

_ My lip trembled, and I threw my arms around him tightly. My body was shaking. He hugged me back tightly. "Y-you don't have to do this," I mumbled into his shirt._

_ "Yes I do," he whispered. He pulled away and nudged me towards the sitting room. "Go on," he gave me a kind smile. "I'll see you on the other side." I didn't move._

_ Steve stripped from the waist up, and I watched as the scientists began to strap Steve inside what looked like a metal coffin. I swallowed, lightheaded with fear. Anyone who didn't work there filed into the screening room above my head, but I didn't move. Howard Stark, whom I recognized from the expo James had taken me to, gave me a curious glance before going back to his work._

_ "Comfortable?" I heard Erskine ask Steve._

_ My brother chuckled nervously. "It's a little big."_

_ I looked around nervously, watching everyone scurry in and out of the room. A tall, dark haired man in glasses caught me staring and gave me a cold, hard look. I looked away, shuddering._

_ "Mr. Stark, how are your levels?" Erskine asked Howard._

_ "Levels at one hundred percent," he answered._

_ "Good," Erskine nodded._

_ "We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn," Howard continued, once again glancing over at me, "but we are as ready as we'll ever be."_

_ Doctor Erskine turned to see Peggy Carter standing quite close, watching Steve. "Agent Carter," he addressed her. She snapped out of her thoughts. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the booth?"_

_ She smiled nervously. "Yes, of course. Sorry." She hurried upstairs, glancing back behind her every so often. Erskine glanced at me but made no move to ask me to leave._

_ Doctor Erskine tapped the microphone in his hands and addressed the crowd above my head. I kept my eyes glued on my brother, who was looking anywhere but me. "Do you hear me? Is this on?" He tapped it once more and then began to speak. "__Ladies and gentlemen, today we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on the path to peace. We begin with a series of micro-injections into the subjects major muscle groups." Steve. His name is Steve. "The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change. And then to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with vita rays." _

_ I gulped and clutched my necklace, praying that everything would work out and my brother would be alright._

_ Doctor Erskine moved to Steve and injected a needle into his arm. He hissed, clenching his teeth. __"__That wasn't so bad," he said, struggling to look down at his arm._

_ Doctor Erskine glanced at me.__ "That was penicillin," he deadpanned. He lifted his voice. "Serum infusion beginning in five, four, three, two, one. Now, Mr. Stark."_

_ Howard turned on the machine, and the capsule sealed itself, trapping my brother inside. I pressed my clasped hands to my chest, murmuring a prayer under my breath. I took a few small steps forward. __ Erskine knocked on the outside of the shell. "__Steven, can you hear me?"_

_ Steve's voice echoed through the metal case. "__It's probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?"_

_ I choked out a laugh, feeling my hands begin to grow numb. I hated this. I hated not being able to do anything. Erskine managed a small smile before glancing to Howard Stark and nodding. "We will proceed."_

_ Howard nodded and began turning the wheel to release the serum into Steven. "That's ten percent. Twenty Percent. Thirty." Blue light was pouring out of the small window of the capsule. My fingernails broke the skin of my palms. "That's forty percent."_

_ "Vital signs are normal," another man called out. _

_ "That's fifty percent."_

_ My heart was in my throat. "Please be okay," I whispered. _

_ "Sixty."_

_ Erskine glanced at me worriedly._

_ "Seventy."_

_ As the percentage left Stark's lips, Steve began to scream, howling in pain. My heart skipped a beat as my body went numb. I stumbled forward. "Steve!" My voice was foreign to my ears._

_ "Steven!" Erskine yelled, rushing towards the capsule._

_ "Shut it down!" Peggy's voice reached my ears from a great distance._

_ I was crying. Someone wrapped their arms around my waist and pulled me back, kicking and screaming. "Steve!"_

_ "Steven!" Erskine was banging on the capsule._

_ "Shut it down!"_

_ Erskine turned towards Stark before realizing he wasn't at his post. He stared at me in surprise, and somewhere in my mind I realized that it was Stark that was holding me back. "Kill the reactor, Mr. Stark!"_

_ A young woman with a wedding ring on her finger moved forward towards the reactor while Howard struggled to hold me back._

_ "Turn it off! Kill it! Kill the reactor!"_

_ Erskine ran down the platform and grabbed my arm while Howard sped towards the controls._

_ "No!" Steve's agonized voice rang out amidst the pandemonium. "Don't! I can do this!"_

_ Erskine and Howard stared at each other for a split second before Stark turned back to the controls to finish the job. He began turning the wheel, and I began pulling against Erskine, trying to reach my brother. It was no use; his grip was like iron, and I wasn't strong enough t break free. "Eighty."_

_ The light flooding from the window was searing bright; everyone not wearing protective glasses was covering their eyes so as not to be blinded._

_ "Ninety—" I brought my head down, tears rolling down my face. "That's one hundred percent!"_

_ The light reached an unimaginable level of brightness, lighting up the entire room. The machine began to short, sparks flying up from the software. All the machinery in the room acted in a similar fashion, shorting out. The light in the capsule began to flicker, and then died. The machine began to die down, its roar fading to a whirring purr. Erskine released me, and I didn't move. I just stared at the capsule, praying that it hadn't just become a coffin._

_ "Mr. Stark!" Erskine barked._

_ The capsule doors slid open, steam rolling out of the case. A tall, muscular man stood there, leaning against the back of the machine, chest heaving, and it took a moment for me to realize that it was my brother._

_ Erskine moved forward and took hold of his arm, "Steven—" Howard rushed over and helped the Doctor lead him down and out of the capsule. _

_ "I did it," Steve gasped._

_ "Yeah, yeah," Erskine smiled. "I think we did it."_

_ Howard looked shocked and amazed. "You actually did it," he murmured._

_ I unfroze and rushed over, throwing my arms around Steve's torso, which was as high as I could reach. He towered over me now. He swayed for a moment before wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "Hey, kiddo," he said, sounding exhausted._

_ I was shaking so violently that I could barely stand, but I still managed to hit him in the arm, which, for the first time, probably hurt me more than it did him. I shook out my hand, glaring up at him. Tears stung my eyes. "Steven Rogers, if you ever do something like that again—"_

_ He ruffled my hair. "Don't worry, Katie."_

_ "How do you feel?" Peggy stood there, looking immensely relieved. _

_ Steve looked around, one arm still encircling my shoulders. One of my hands rested on his chest, working to keep him steady. "Taller."_

"Katie. Katie, wake up. We're here, wake up."

My eyes shot open, and I bit back a howl of pain as I tried to move my stiff wing. Eli had opened my door and stood right by it, one hand held out to me, the other on my back. "C'mon, Katie," he murmured, picking me up out of the seat. I shivered, curling towards him. I was soaking wet and freezing, but at the same time, I was sweating. Eli kicked the door shut and began walking, struggling under my weight. He kicked on a door, unable to knock. Several moments later, it opened to reveal Bruce.

He ushered us inside, glancing around outside before closing and locking the door. Eli paused in the hall, waiting for directions, and let Banner rush by him. He led us into the kitchen and had Eli place me onto the wooden table.

Bruce pulled away the soaked blanket and tossed it into the corner. "There's a dry one in the closet," he told Eli. "Go grab it and a few towels; she's got a fever."

Eli nodded tersely and did as instructed while Bruce went to work straightening my wing and moving feathers aside to survey the damage. Eli returned to the room and passed me the blanket, which I immediately grabbed and shoved my face into to keep from screaming. Bruce left for a moment to gather his things, and Eli began wrapping me in towels. I was burning up and shaky, and I wanted to vomit. My mouth tasted horrible, and my tongue and lips were sticky and dry.

"Whose house is this?" Eli asked curiously.

"Mine," Bruce answered. "Well, the family's, if anyone needed a place to stay or meet up."

Eli hummed in understanding and brought me another blanket.

"Alright, Katie," Banner said softly, placing his hand on my wing. "We don't have time for anesthesia; as soon as this is done, you need to get out of here, understand?" I nodded tersely into the blanket. I felt a needle pierce my back, and it immediately went numb. "I can use this, though. It will hurt, but not nearly as much. We can't have you unconscious when you need to run, got it?" I nodded again, and he went to work. At least, I think he went to work. Every now and then I would feel a pull or tug, but I couldn't feel anything coming from my wing.

My vision swam, and I swayed back and forth. Eli kept a firm grip on my shoulders, steadying me. _'How come he never got shot?' _I wondered somewhat bitterly. _'Or stabbed, or pinned, or drugged, or—'_

"Done," Bruce announced, cutting off my train of thought. He moved around the side to my arm but was stopped by Eli.

"I can stitch up her arm once she's safe," Eli said firmly, cutting him off. "Where's the tracker?"

Bruce moved to get it. "Don't destroy it," I muttered.

Both men turned to stare at me, dumbfounded."What?"

"Send it away with a bird or something, but don't destroy it. If you do, they'll know where we are and that I've had it removed. Let it keep moving… preferably in the opposite direction."

Bruce nodded, looking doubtful. "What is it?" Eli asked, sounding irked.

"Well, it's not as if I have a ton of birds on hand," he pointed out, running a hand through his hair.

"We could put it on a train or something…"

I shook my head, then stopped when the room began spinning. I pressed my fingers into my temple, groaning. "No. He won't care if other people are on board if he thinks that I am." A thought struck me. "Are there any rivers around here?"

"Um… yeah, why?"

"Put it in a bottle, put a cap on the bottle, throw the bottle in a river. Do it quickly. That way the tracker will keep moving and we can hurry away."

Bruce nodded. "Right."

He and Eli hauled me to my feet—I couldn't walk, not with a numb back—and carried me out to the car. It was mid-afternoon by then, and the sunlight was warm, even if the wind was chilly. Bruce helped create a sort of pallet out of towels and blankets for me on the backseat, and he and Eli covered me a quilt. At some point, Eli had pulled the top back over the Jeep, keeping any and all rain out. They placed me on my side on the seat and strapped me in. Bruce handed me a pillow and passed Eli a bottle of pain medication. I began to fall asleep, slipping into feverish unconsciousness as Bruce gave Eli the instructions.

"As soon as you go, I'll get rid of it," Bruce said softly. "Go quickly."

The two men shook hands. "Thank you," Eli said earnestly.

"Go."

Soon, the seat beneath me began to vibrate as the car turned on and rolled away. I woke up several times, delirious. The last time I woke up was to see a beautiful sunset through the window by my feet. At some point, Eli stopped for gas and to give me my medicine. I wasn't hungry, but he placed a box of Sprite and crackers in the floorboard beside me, just in case. I wondered when the last time he had slept was. There were at least four empty little containers of 5-Hour-Energy in the floorboards beside my Sprite, and a huge Coke had taken up residence in one of the cup-holders up front. My last thought before I passed out again was that he should have let me drive.


	13. Chapter 13

When I woke, I was lying on my stomach in a bed in a hotel room. It was dark, but there was light creeping around the edges of the curtains on the other side of the room. Eli was sound asleep on the bed across from mine. His hair was tousled, his mouth was open, and drool was trickling down the side of his face. His arm was bent at an awkward angle, pointing at the ceiling, but his hand was hanging limply near his face.

I sat up and looked around, careful not to jar my wing. My injured arm was in a sling held close to my body. The little digital clock said that it was around eight in the morning, but I wasn't sure what time zone we were in, or what day it was. I didn't want to wake Eli, since I didn't know that last time he had slept, and so I snuggled back down under the covers and took two of the pain pills on the table beside me, washing them down with some Sprite.

I was drenched with sweat, but no longer hot, so I knew my fever had broken. I rested, lying on my uninjured side, thinking about everything that had happened. I couldn't believe that James was alive. My heart felt as though it was being torn apart. The man I loved was alive, but… but he didn't remember me. He wanted to kill me. I bit my lip as I thought about the last time we had really been able to talk. It had been a few nights before his final mission with the Howling Commandos. I had been allowed to go because, although Steve didn't know it, I had already been exposed to the Infinity Formula. I hadn't known it at the time, of course—I would have gone straight to Steve if I had—but I was already being prepped for a future experiment—the experiment that would give me my wings.

_James and I lay outside on a blanket under the stars. It was cool, but not freezing, and we both were bundled up. My head rested on his chest, his arm around my shoulders. Our breath turned to mist in the night air. _

_ "Do you think the war will ever be over?" I asked him softly._

_ He shrugged. "Yeah, eventually." _

_ I swallowed. I felt like it had gone on for decades already, and I was so terrified that something was going to happen and I was going to lose everything. "How long?"_

_ I felt him shake his head, and his hold on me tightened._

_ "I dunno," he answered. "Soon, I hope."_

_ We stayed silent for a few minutes, and my stomach twisted painfully. "I'm sorry," I blurted suddenly. _

_ I felt him shift to look down at me. "For what?" He sounded genuinely confused._

_ "For everything that happened," I whispered. "Zola…"_

_ I felt him stiffen, and I turned my head to look at his face. The moonlight erased the lines on his face, washing away the worry and pain, but he seemed to have aged years since his capture. Even the thought of Zola made my blood boil. I remembered finding James strapped to that table, all but unconscious. I remembered my heart hammering in my throat. And I remembered his vacant eyes opening and fixing on me, remembered the lazy smile he gave me because he thought he had died, and that I was an angel waiting to guide him home. I choked back tears and buried my face in his jacket._

_ "Hey," he said sounding worried. Any frustration or anger present the moment before was gone. _

_ I was so afraid. So, so afraid that something would happen and he and Steve would be taken from me. I lifted my head, and he brushed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away the tears there. _

_ "Hey, what's wrong?"_

_ I shook my head. "Nothing," I choked out. He gave me a disbelieving look and sat up, wincing slightly. His grip on my shoulders was strong and warm and, as always, I felt safe. _

_ "Don't lie to me, Katie," he said softly. "Now tell me, what's wrong?"_

_ I looked up at the sky and willed myself not to cry. "I'm just scared," I managed. "Scared that something will happen to you, or to Steve, and I ju—"_

_ "Steve can take care of himself now," James said softly, grinning. I knew him, though. I could see the sadness behind the smile on his face._

_ "James," I whispered. _

_ His smile fell, and he sighed. "Nothing's gonna happen to me," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "I promise." He gave me a gentle shake. "You hear me? I promise. Nothing's gonna happen to me, and nothing's gonna happen to you."_

_ My chest ached. So many promises to me had been broken, and I couldn't bear for this one to be broken as well. "James," I murmured, shaking my head. "You can't promise me that. You can't know that."_

_ "Yes, I can. Look, as long as your big brother has got my back, nothing's going to happen," he swore, giving me a soft smile. He looked around, glancing back at the camp. We had to be back by curfew. "We should go back." He took my hand, gently pulling me to my feet._

_ I didn't want to leave. I wished that I could stay right here with him forever. I loved him so, so much, and he knew it. I knew he felt the same way. We had known each other for years, and he knew me better than anyone else, except maybe for Steve. Because of this, because of how much I loved him, I knew that it would kill me if anything happened to him. I wouldn't be able to cope if he died. "James, please—"_

_ He paused and looked me straight in the eye. "I love you, Katie," he said, resting his hand against my cheek. My heart did a little dance in my chest, and butterflies began whirring around my stomach. I took hold of his fingers and turned my cheek against his palm, feeling my skin heat up as I blushed. _

_ "I love you too," I whispered, staring into his eyes. He moved forward, his breath warm against my icy cheeks, and then kissed me softly. My lips tingled. It wasn't the first time he had kissed me, but like all the others, it was sweet and warm and comforting. I kissed him back softly, feeling another tear fall from my eyelashes. _

_ "I, uh, have something to ask you," he stammered as he pulled away. As he sank to one knee, my hands moved of their own accord to cover my mouth. He pulled out a plain silver ring from his breast pocket. "I'm sorry it's not nicer, it's hard to get ahold of jewelry out here." He gave me a crooked, nervous smile and cleared his throat. "Katherine Rogers," he began, looking me in the eye._ _"I've known you almost my whole life, and I want to spend the rest of it with you, if you'll have me. Will you marry me?"_

_ I stared at him, dumbfounded. He looked up at me, stars dancing in his light blue eyes, a nervous smile on his lips. I found myself nodding as my heart swelled near to bursting. Tears rolled down my cheeks. "Yes," I gasped, "Oh, James, yes—"_

_ He stood and kissed me, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around. I clung to him, one hand in his hair, the other on his shoulder. Tears of joy continued to fall from both our eyes. He slid the ring onto my finger and kissed me again. _

_ "I know we won't be able to get married for a while," James stammered, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "But it'll give us time to plan everything out, and of course once the war's over we'll be able to go back home, and—"_

_ "Hey, it's okay," I smiled. And it was. He was going to be my husband. Everything would be okay. We wouldn't be married for at least a year, I knew, but it was alright. It would give us time to grow together, and to plan, and I knew I wouldn't be able to marry at eighteen anyway._

_ He brushed the tears away and kissed me again. "I love you," he whispered against my lips. "I love you."_

_ "I love you."_

Of course, I didn't know what was coming. I didn't know that I was going to lose him. I rolled onto my stomach and wiped away the tears that had begun to fall down my cheeks at the memory. I thought about the ring he had given me, and a fresh wave of grief hit me. I stuffed a handful of my sheets into my mouth to keep from sobbing aloud. The night before I had been captured, I had given the engagement ring and my purity ring to Howard Stark for safekeeping. I knew that something was going to happen, that I was being hunted, and I didn't want the rings to be taken from me. Howard had indeed kept it safe; in fact, it was the day before his death that I had met him and collected them. He had been shocked to see me, and I often wondered if it had been my fault that he was killed; if H.Y.D.R.A. hadn't wanted me found.

My purity ring was still with me, but my engagement ring was not. When Fury found me and fought me, he had grabbed my hand to keep me from getting away. The ring had slipped off and given me a chance to escape. I had been shot, I was bleeding out, and I was disoriented. By the time I had healed and realized what had happened, it was too late. There was no way I could go back for it, even if he had kept it. I tasted blood in my mouth, and I sat up, wiping the tears from my cheeks. Crying about it wouldn't make my ring appear. I had to deal with what was in front of me and not focus on the past.

My heart cried out as it continued to tear, and I pressed my fist to my chest, rubbing the area over my heart. It physically hurt to think about my fiancé, but I needed to. I couldn't forget about him, especially not now that he had forgotten me. A thought began to grow within the depths of my mind, and idea of how to get him back. Because now that I had found him, I couldn't lose him. Not again.

* 8*8*8*8*8*8*8*8 *

"Look alive, Cap."

Tony's voice startled Steve from his thoughts, and he looked up, blue-grey eyes darting around the room. He couldn't stop thinking about the girl, Katie. There was something about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something was familiar.

"Something wrong?" He glanced up at Bruce, sitting across from him at the coffee table.

He shook his head quickly. "Nah," he said. "I'm fine."

Ever since that blasted man had taken a shot at the girl, she had disappeared off the grid. He and the team had given chase to the man that had tried to take her down, searching well into the following night, but they had lost him. By the time they had gotten back to where they had started, it was too dark to see, and they were all exhausted and worn down. The following morning they had gone out and searched but hadn't found anything. Bruce had gotten a call from an old friend who was sick and had to go see them, and had only gotten back to the tower that morning, just beating them there. The whole team, save Barton, was in a sour mood, and Steve was no exception.

"Sure you are," the younger man grunted, reaching over the table for a packet of sugar.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "What'd you mean?"

Banner shrugged. "We both know you're not fine," he stated bluntly, tearing open the little packet and pouring it into his coffee. "So stop pretending." He stirred the drink for a moment and then set the little wooded stick down on a napkin. "It's Katie, isn't it?"

_Katie. _He shook his head as a sharp, quick burst of color and sound flared within his mind, and he sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands grasped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

_"Katie, you okay?"_

_ The little girl beside me stared up at me with big, watery blue eyes. "No." Her voice broke, and she shook her head. "I'm not okay."_

_ I pulled her into a hug. Even though I was six years older than she was, she still was catching up to me, height wise. I'd have to watch out or she'd end up passing me. My heart clenched at the thought of not being her big brother anymore, and it finally hit me that I was the only family she had left, and she mine. All we had was each other. "Hey," I pulled back to see her better. "I'm not going anywhere. I will always be there to protect you, got it?" She nodded and started sobbing, burring her head in my chest. I rubbed her back as tears stung at my eyes, and I tried not to look at Mom's grave. "Hey, you're okay. You're safe. I love you."_

_ "I love you, Steve."_

_ I bent down and kissed her forehead gently, keeping my arms wrapped around her shoulders. "I love you too, kiddo."_

As soon as he was outside the grip of the memory,Steve leapt to his feet and looked around wildly. "What was that?"

Banner leaned away from him and stared at him as if worried for his sanity. "What was what?"

"That girl, that voice, I…" his head hurt. That wasn't his memory. That couldn't be his memory, he… he thought back to his mother's funeral. He remembered standing with Bucky, walking back home with his friend, and talking to him outside his door. Nowhere did he recall a girl. Maybe he was just tired. That was it. His mind was playing tricks on him. He shook his head. "Never mind," he gave Bruce a tired smile. "Just… déjà vu, I guess."

Bruce nodded, looking unconvinced. "Sure. Why don't you get some rest? You look pale."

Steve nodded and left the room, heading for his quarters. He thought about the little girl form his dream. His mom had died when he was nineteen, and the girl was six years younger, so thirteen. She was his sister, of that much he was sure. At least, she was the sister of whoever's memory this belonged to.

_"I'm not going anywhere. I will always be there to protect you, got it?"_

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He was so tired. He thought about Katie. She was just a kid. Natasha had said that she and Steve were nearly the same age; that meant that the girl had to have been frozen like he had been. He wondered what had happened to her, and how she had gotten her wings. Surely she hadn't been born with them.

"Cap?"

Rogers looked up to see Barton in the doorframe. For some reason, he had seemed happier lately than anyone else on the team. "Barton," Steve greeted tiredly.

Clint entered the room without permission and sat down at his desk, moving the chair so that he faced Steve while he talked. "How are you doing?"

Steve frowned. "Fine, I suppose."

"Don't lie," Clint countered bluntly. "I know you're not fine. You look horrible."

Steve was in a sour mood by now. "What are you doing here, Barton?"

"Because despite what everyone seems to think, Cap," he said slowly, leaning forward in his chair, "I know that you're a lot younger than the rest of us, and I know you're probably in over your head a bit. I know you've been through hell and back." He paused. "You and your sister."

There it was again: that flash of remembrance. A glimpse of honey-colored hair and stormy blue eyes. A tear streaked face. A kiss on the forehead. A promise.

Steve shook his head sharply as if trying to rid himself of the memories. "I don't have a sister," he mumbled, pressing his palms to his temple. He didn't know what to make of this. He was receiving flashed of memory of a person he didn't believe existed, and yet… they felt so _real_. So familiar. He found himself wanting to believe that he had a sister even as he found to banish the thought from his mind.

Barton sighed and leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. He watched the super-soldier carefully, pity striking his heart. This man… he still was just a kid, despite what the others seemed to think. He only was in his twenties, mentally. He actually was, now that Clint bothered to think about it, younger than Katie. She had been nineteen when she had been captured and had spent twenty-three years on the run. She had nearly twice Steve's experience and yet at the same time still acted and felt things as a teenager would. She needed her brother just as badly as Steve needed her.

He thought about the museums nearby, and an idea came into his mind. "Alright," he said suddenly, giving up the argument. He stood up. "Get up, we leave in five."

Steve looked up form his hands. "Why, where're we going?"

"It's a surprise," the older man shrugged. He headed out the door, but paused on the threshold. "Don't wear your uniform," the archer warned. "We don't want to freak anyone out."


	14. Chapter 14

When Eli finally woke up, I had already cleaned up, made my bed, and attacked the breakfast bar downstairs. I set a muffin on the table by his bed. He groaned and pulled the blanket up over his head.

"Morning," I called softly, glancing up from the sketch I was making.

A string of unintelligible muttering came from his mouth, and he rolled over.

I threw one of my pillows over to hit him. "It's time to tackle that museum," I told him. I had sat here for hours letting him sleep. It was time to go. "You have ten minutes."

He took all ten of those minutes, shuffling around with bleary eyes bumping into things while I looked on from my bed. He had slept in his clothes, apparently.

"Let's go!" I hung upside down over the side of the bed, my hair touching the floor. I needed to find out if the museum had anything on me there. Even just a mention of me. I would be totally fine with any proof that I existed that I could show Steve.

Finally Eli emerged from the bathroom, an exhausted expression on his face. He picked up the muffin and stared at it blankly. "How long have you been up?" he asked, yawning. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven.

I shrugged and motioned towards the door. "Time to go."

I climbed off the bad and started for the door, but he stopped me before I could go anywhere. "No. Sit." He pushed my uninjured shoulder down so that I was sitting on the edge of my unmade bed. "You can't go our in public looking like…" he gestured to my body. "Like you," he finished.

"Sorry, it's not like I have a ton of options," I snapped. Time was ticking. I wanted to leave immediately.

Without looking, he reached behind his back and pulled a bag I hadn't noticed before from the dresser. He proceeded to pull out clothes, some nice, but practical, sneakers, and… "Makeup?" I voiced aloud, horrified. "You can't be serious."

"I am." He threw the items in the bag and tossed it to me. "Go get ready."

With a huff, I left the room and locked the bathroom door. I stripped and showered, not knowing how long it would be before I could take one again. It lasted longer than I would have liked, since I had to take extra care not to get my shoulder or wing wet. Finally, I climbed out and wrapped my hair up in a towel to dry as I began applying makeup.

I hated wearing makeup. It was messy, it was uncomfortable, and it took forever to put on. I applied as much as I could before I gave up and all but threw it back in the bag. I dressed quickly, finished drying my hair and exited the bathroom, throwing the bag back at Eli. He nodded and sat me down again, glancing over me as I pulled on my trench coat and covered the unforgettable scar that marred my arm.

"We have to cut it," he finally said, glancing at my hair.

I grabbed at my curls, pulling them out of his reach and growling low in my throat. "Not a chance," I barked angrily.

"Katie—" he tried.

"I'm wearing makeup, now can we go now?"

He sighed but agreed, handing me a beanie and fake glasses to cover my hair and face. I snatched them away, still grumbling, and followed him down to the car.

We checked out of the hotel and sped off. We were only a few hours out from Washington, apparently, and I settled in, turning on the radio. After a little while, he turned it down and glanced over at me. I was curled up in my seat, staring out the front windshield. My wing felt much better: it would likely be fully healed in a couple days, and I could most likely fly with it now, if I needed to.

"Sorry for snapping at you," I finally murmured, not moving my gaze from the scenery outside. "You were just trying to help."

"Yeah, well, I'll remember not to mess with your hair next time," he replied in a joking manner. A little smile crossed my lips.

"Will anyone recognize us?" I asked after a few minutes. I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye.

"Dunno. Me? No way. No one's thought of me in decades. You, maybe, but I can't be sure. If Stark never got through to S.H.I.E.L.D., they won't know you're even on the radar, much less in their backyard."

"Their backyard?" I repeated, finally tearing my gaze away from the highway.

"Yep." He glanced over at me again. "Still think this is worth it?"

"Yes," I replied instantly. I thought back to my childhood with Steve, all the times when his memory pulled me back when the drugs and the torture and the pain of killing was too much. I had to get him back. I needed my brother.

He nodded. "Okay."

We rode in silence for a while, staring out the windows as modern structures took over the landscape. Eli spoke up again. "So, you've been on the run for a while now," he said, breaking the stillness. "How come you don't know so much about this world? About the present?"

I took a deep breath and released it, pondering my answer. "After I escaped—and wherever I was held was not in America—I found Howard. I don't know how, exactly, but I did. I think… I think I had been programed to kill him. But I broke out of it and escaped instead. I still knew where to go, though. I told him what had happened, and he gave me some money—a ton of it, actually—and sent me to Canada."

Eli nodded. "That's why you kept telling me to run there," he said. "It's safe."

"It's home; yeah. I mean, it's cold, but it's home." I swallowed. "I lived in this small town for a really long time. Good people, really secluded. We didn't really care about, um," I searched for the right word. "Media and stuff. America either. It seemed really far away. It was peaceful. Good. I tried to forget everything that happened, tried to lose myself there. Of course, people start to notice when you don't age. When the kids you met grow up and get married have kids and you stay the same."

"So what'd you do?" he asked.

I gave him a lopsided smile. "I left. I moved out of town about twenty miles to this cabin on the edge of a lake." I let out a sigh. "It was beautiful. It was on this little peninsula, see, where I could see the sun rise and set each day from my room. It was a small cabin, only a few rooms. Bedroom, kitchen, bathroom… and it was wonderful. Simple."

"And you lived alone out there?"

"Yeah." I smiled at the memory. "I had a garden."

Eli snorted as if the idea of my gardening was ridiculous. I suppose it was. "And I would fish, and hunt if I had to. I'd go to the store every six months or so and stock up on salt and canned food and toiletries and stuff."

"What'd you do? Was it boring?"

I shook my head. "Nah. There were a lot of books in town that I bought to read, that was good."

"Like what?" he asked curiously.

"The _Lord of the Rings _trilogy was my favorite," I grinned. "And _The Hobbit_. The author actually fought in World War II, did you know?" Eli nodded. "Others like the _Chronicles of Narnia _were really good, as well as the _Harry Potter _series." I frowned. "Those were sad. I got a few history books as well about the wars that I missed. There wasn't a lot of American history in a Canadian bookstore, though."

"So all you did for twenty years was read?" He asked, an amused look on his face.

"No!" I smiled. "I flew." I rested my head against the cushion. "Every day that it wasn't snowing or storming I would fly. When it was too cold, I would practice shooting."

"Guns?"

"Sometimes," I replied. "I used a bow as well." He nodded, and I sighed again. "I want to go back. I wish I could take you and Steve and James and just go live there in peace, where it's safe." I blinked in surprise at my own words. When had I started considering Eli family? My heart warmed. He was like my brother, I decided; like a younger twin brother of sorts. Family.

"That can't happen, Katie," Eli said gently. "You know that, right?"  
I let out a breath through my nose and bit my lip. "It can't hurt to dream," I murmured.

He said nothing. Buildings old and new cluttered the area on either side of the road, and we moved more slowly now. I kept my eyes peeled for danger. We were in Washington now. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, as well as members of H.Y.D.R.A., could be anywhere.

We found a parking garage and stowed the jeep as near to the exit as we could, and then spent the next hour wandering about searching for the Smithsonian museums. By then, it was after noon. I was hot, cranky, and worried, not to mention frustrated from my earlier conversation. Every man or woman who passed me seemed to be concealing a weapon, eyeing me as they walked by.

"Hey, look up there!" Eli's voice jerked me out of my thoughts. He took my hand and pulled me forward. It was the Smithsonians. I didn't know how I had missed them. The Washington Monument stood at one end of the field in the midst of all the museums, far from us. The nineteen museums were spread out around the large field, and thousands of tourists milled about taking pictures and pointing excitedly to the sights.

I turned in a full circle. "Which one is it?"

Eli's shoulders slumped, and he frowned. "I don't know."

We began moving counter-clockwise, peering into the doorways and at the signs, searching for any sign of Captain America. After five museums, I was ready to throw a fit.

"We're never going to find it," I complained, crossing my arms.

At that moment, a young-ish man with long blonde hair strode by me. He wore dark, nerdy glasses and sported, to my immense relief, a Captain America t-shirt. I sprinted forward, dragging Eli along as I chased after the tourist.

"Sir?" I called, waving to catch his attention. "Excuse me, sir?"

He turned around, eyes lighting on me. He stopped walking and smiled. The crowds moved around him, giving us a bit of a bubble to speak in. "Hey," he said happily. "Were you talking to me?"

I nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yes, hi, um… I was wondering if you could tell me where the Captain America exhibit is?" I gestured to his shirt.

Eli stepped in, rolling his eyes. "My sister's convinced that we're related to him, and she dragged me over here without getting directions."

I huffed, looking away irritably even as my heart began to beat harder in my chest. The man chuckled. "Sorry, kiddos," he said. "But ole Cap' wasn't married. Didn't have any kids, neither did his sister. No way you're related."

Eli rolled his eyes and gave me a playful punch on my uninjured shoulder. "Told you, Molly."

I punched him back, hard. "Shut up… Toby."

The glare he gave me told me he'd get me back later, but I turned back to the man, who had been watching us with a curious, amused expression, as if we were a part of his favorite television show.

I flashed him a bright smile. "I'd still like to visit," I explained. "Do you know where it is?"

He pointed at the building closest to us. "Air and Space Museum," he said, glancing back at us. "Can't miss it."

I grinned. "Thanks!"

We parted ways and Eli all but dragged me towards the building. "Toby?" he muttered, glaring at me from the corner of his eye.

"Molly?" I hissed back.

He shrugged and led me through a side entrance, away from the security. Guards and machines can miss things, even very important things, but there was no way that they would miss my wings if I went through an X-ray.

We made our way through the museum, pretending to look at the other exhibits while we made our way to the opposite end of the first floor. After nearly thirty minutes of wandering around and avoiding guards, we made it. A huge painting of Steve's face had been painted on the wall. Glass panels stood tall around the room, and mannequins with our old uniforms stood at attention nearby. I felt tears come to my eyes. Here was proof that I could show my brother. Here was proof that I was real.

One of the panels caught my eye. It showed an image of my brother before the serum, standing as tall as he could. Skinny Steve. I crossed over to it and placed my hand against the glass, my chest tightening. Things had been so simple then. The image changed to how Steve had looked after his transformation, how he looked now, and tears stung my eyes. I pulled my hand away.

"Katie," Eli breathed, tugging on my arm gently. "Look."

It was me. My hand moved to cover my mouth as I let out a small gasp as my heart performed a little tap dance in my chest. A picture of Steve, James, and I was plastered on the wall. We were frozen mid-laugh, all our faces light and smiling. Steve had his arm around my shoulders, and James's was as well. I had reached up and taken ahold of James's hand, and our fingers were intertwined. My breath caught as I caught sight of the rings on my hand. So this was only days before I lost him. I had forgotten when the picture had been taken. Beneath it was my biography. Apparently, I had died in nineteen forty-six. No one knew I was alive, then. Maybe that was for the best. A voice spoke up over the monitors, deep and slow and sad.

_'Steve Rogers and his sister, Katherine, were inseparable from birth. When Rogers received the serum that would lead to his transformation into Captain America, his little sister stayed by his side, earning the title, 'America's Angel.' The pair fought their way through the German lines, Katherine Rogers becoming one of the first females in American history to do so. Unfortunately, this could not last forever. After Captain Roger's untimely death in early 1945 America's Angel went missing, and she was presumed dead a year later in the summer of 1946.'_

I turned my head to see a little girl staring up at me with wide blue eyes. I pressed a finger to my lips softly, letting a light smile appear there. The girl nodded, her mouth agape, and started smiling.

Someone jerked me to the side, and before I knew it, my back was pressed against the wall of a small, dimly lit room. A film was playing, Agent Peggy Carter speaking in the background. My chest ached. I missed her. She had been my friend.

Clint Barton stood in front of me, eyes wide and panicked. "What are you doing here?" he hissed in short, clipped tones. "Both of you?"

Eli had followed us. He looked very pale. "We had to check," I hastened to explain. "Had to make sure I was here. I mean, that I was real. I mean—"

"I'm checking for you," Barton snapped, glancing around. "Now both of you, get out."

"But—"

He pushed me into Eli's arms, hard. His voice was sharp and angry. "Now!"

Without a word, Eli pulled me from the room, spurred on by the urgency in his brother's voice. We hadn't made it five steps when I crashing into someone, sending me reeling back. I tripped over my own feet and somehow managed to twist in midair, landing hard on my knees. My hands, held out to catch my weight, slammed into the ground. I hadn't worn my sling out of the car for fear of someone recognizing me, and I was paying for it. When my hand slammed into the ground, a jolt travelled up my arm and jarred my shot shoulder. I let out an involuntary yelp and curled up for a moment, biting back tears. The man knelt down, grabbed my uninjured arm, and then pulled me to my feet.

"I'm sorry," came my brother's voice. "Are you alright?"

I looked up and met his eyes as my heart stopped beating and I froze. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. He stared at me for a split second, and just as recognition began to dawn in his gaze, Elijah grabbed my arm and yanked me out of Steve's grip. He pulled me with super human strength, and we managed to escape the crowds, Steve's voice echoing through the room.

I sprinted down the halls, coat flapping behind me. I was panicking. My heart pounded mercilessly against my ribs as I chased Eli down the steps of the museum and back towards the car.

"Go, go, go—" I panted, tucking my arm up against my chest as I ran. My shoulder throbbed painfully, but I pushed it away and hugged my arm tighter. Old wounds stretched, and I clenched my jaw. The grass was slick under my feet, and more than once, I stumbled and almost fell. More than once, Eli pulled me back up.

Eli turned his head to look at me. We were halfway across the commons area by now. "Get to the—"

He never got to finish.


	15. Chapter 15

Eli gave a sudden jerk, his back arching, and his feet left the ground. He hung suspended for a split second, and then I watched in slow motion as he fell to the ground and rolled over a few times before lying still. I skidded to a stop, backpedaling wildly, and tripped, sliding across the damp grass to avoid falling on him. I came to a halt a few feet away and rose up on my hands and knees.

"Eli," I crawled over to him and placed my hand on his chest. He had been shot. The bullet had passed straight through him, leaving a gaping exit wound in his chest. His eyes were open, staring unseeingly past me. The force of the blast had blown his chest open, tearing through bone and flesh like tissue paper. Blood soaked the front of his shirt, oozing from the hole above his heart.

My mind blanked in shock and horror. "No, no, Eli, NO!" I was screaming and crying, pressing my hands to his chest to try and stop the bleeding. He couldn't be gone. Just seconds ago he was running, moving, talking. Minutes ago he had saved me—and I had lost count of all the times he had rescued me the past week. Hours ago I had come to the realization that he had become a part of my family, someone I would have died for. He was the closest friend I had had in years, decades. And he was gone.

I wanted to run, I wanted to scream, I wanted to _kill_—I let out a scream and let it become a murderous roar as I rose to my feet. A crowd was beginning to gather around me, and I stood on trembling knees. Fury overtook me. My hands clenched into fists, and I was acutely aware of the blood than stained my fingers.

I turned around and saw Clint rushing towards me. The look on Clint's face did two things: fuel my rage… and break my heart. I caught sight of a figure in black on top of the museum, and I knew. H.Y.D.R.A. had come. They had sent the Winter Soldier to draw me out, and he had killed my friend. Blood roared in my ears. Even though I couldn't kill him, I could kill the ones responsible for Eli's death, and for the deaths of James Barnes and Katherine Rogers. For the first time, I understood a term I had read about as a teenager: aristeia, when someone was fighting so furiously that they became a danger to themselves, walking the edge of the knife between sanity and madness. I finally understood. H.Y.D.R.A. had given me a name while I was their prisoner, their soldier: the Angel of Death.

They wanted me: they'd _get_ me.

For the first time in decades, I let the Angel take over. I let my madness, my rage, my hatred, all of it flow through me, turning my blood to poison. I cast off my coat and spread my wings, rising up into the air. I didn't feel the pain of flying with an injured wing. I didn't care that I was exposing myself. I wanted revenge. I wanted to kill.

People began to fall back, pointing and screaming. Clint rushed to his brother's side. I kept my eyes trained on the shooter. He stared back at me, emotionless, and I sped forward, flying faster than I ever had. The Angel had taken over; Katie was gone.

I slammed into him with the force of a truck, sending him flying backwards. We slammed into a wall and both fell to the ground, rolling over one another, kicking and punching. I was a monster, an animal, tearing with my fingernails and biting at him when I could. I managed to pin him for a second, my hands on his throat. "Where are they?" I screamed. Familiar blue eyes stared back at me, breaking the Angel's grip. Reason returned, and the Soldier threw me off of him. My wings caught me, and when I looked up, it was to see the barrel of a gun.

I dropped to the ground and rushed him, forcing him into hand-to-hand combat. It's hard to wield a gun when your attacker is only inches from you, kicking at your knees and clawing at your face. He kept fighting.

Aristeia surged within me once more, and I managed to punch him in the jaw. His head snapped to the side, and he stumbled back half a step. Before I could move in, he used the momentum to whip around and land a punch to the underside of my jaw. My head snapped back, and I blacked out.

When I came to, the Soldier was dragging me along the ground. We weren't on the roof anymore. I lashed out, kicking his feet out from under him. As he fell, I moved to run, but he managed to grab my ankle, bringing me down with him. He leapt on top of me, his metal hand wrapping around my throat as his human one lifted up to strike my face.

"Just kill me," I hissed, lurching against his hold. His grip tightened. "Do it!"

He hesitated for a split second, and for that instant I saw a flash of remembrance that yanked forward another memory that I hadn't known I possessed.

_I leaned back in a chair, the chair in the room where I would be debriefed… An involuntary shudder ran through me. And Wiped. Why? _

_ People surrounded me, cleaning the burn that covered my right arm._

_ A memory struggled to surface. Blue eyes. Dark hair. Soft lips._

_ I sat straight up, tearing away from the men tending to me. Memory?_

_ The scientist beside me handed me a switchblade. "You will be fighting one of the other soldiers who was on the mission with you," he said. "We want to see how you compare to him, what went wrong."_

_ I nodded mutely and accepted the knife. A man walked into the room, looking furious. "Mission report," he said._

_ I said nothing, frowning as another memory flashed through my mind. A warm laugh. A bright smile._

_ "Mission report, now," the man repeated impatiently._

_ It was dangerous to keep him waiting, I knew. The older man moved closer, staring me in the face. I stared back, not really seeing him. My head suddenly jerked to the side as a searing pain tore through my cheek. The man had backhanded me across the face. _

_ I turned my head back slowly and caught sight of another man walking stiffly into the room. He had a metal arm. He carried a switchblade, which meant that he was my opponent. He had been at the failed assassination two days previously. His eyes met mine, and a spark flashed through my mind, so strong and painful that I nearly gasped aloud. _

_ A name rose to my lips, a name I didn't recognize. "James," I whispered. The new man's head twitched towards me._

_ "What?" the older man snapped, his eyes narrowing._

_ "That man..." I stared at the blue eyed stranger, a strange feeling burning in my chest. My fingers twitched. "Who is he?"_

_ The older man followed my gaze, and a strange look appeared on his face. He looked… worried. "He is one of our other soldiers, you met him on your mission earlier this week, he is your opponent."_

_ My eyes finally moved back to the older man. "I knew him." _

_ The older man frowned and pulled up a stool to sit across from me. I frowned, searching for a memory, a thought, a feeling, _something_. Something was wrong. Something was so, so wrong. I knew him. I knew him. I knew him. Who is he? My shoulders slumped, and I felt my heart rate increase as my breathing became more labored. This was _wrong.

_ "Your abilities are remarkable," the older man said, dropping his voice to something that resembled… kindness? Compassion? How did I know those words? What did they mean? "They have shaped the way that science has progressed, shaped the century. And they need to be put to the test one more time." _

_ I glowered at him, feeling anger bubbling up within me. He pointed to the man behind him, the one whose eyes held a sort of dazed recognition. _

_ "You need to fight him, see who is stronger." _

_ Hatred burned through my veins. I will not fight him. I knew him. I knew him. I knew him. _

_ "Who will win, and who will be wiped out." _

_ But… isn't it my job to fight? To obey? A confused expression crossed my face. What do I do? _

_ "But If you don't do your job, I can't do mine." My lips parted as my eyebrows furrowed together._

_ I stared the young man in the eyes, feeling my own begin to sting. "But I knew him," I replied softly. A sort of broken smile lifted my lips. I had never smiled before._

_ The man let out a frustrated, resigned sigh, nodding his head as if in understanding. He stood up sharply, sending the stood rolling off in the opposite direction. I brought my gaze back to the blue eyed stranger, watching his every move. I knew him. I knew him. I knew him._

_ The man turned to one of the scientists as I sank back, sitting against the edge of the chair. The blade dropped from my fingers and hit the floor with a distant clatter. "Prep her." A sob rose in my throat, and I bit my lip, turning my gaze on the older man once more. No…_

_ My shoulders slumped, and I leaned forward, seizing hold of the memories that had flashed within my mind. I couldn't forget. I wouldn't forget. James. Blue eyes. Dark hair. Soft lips. Bright smile. Warm laugh._

_ The scientist stared at me with something like pity. "She's been out of cryo-freeze too long."_

'I love you, Katie.'

_I blinked. Katie. I was Katie. It was me. It was _me.

_ The older man stared at me without pity. "Then wipe her and start over. Put her back until she's ready to cooperate again."_

_ I stared at him in defiance. The scientists took hold of my shoulders and pushed me back. The instant my back smacked against the chair, I felt broken. Defeated. I was giving up. _

_ My eyes found the blue ones of the young man one more time. "James—" the name escaped from my lips one last time. The scientists placed a mouth guard in my mouth, and I bit down on it, putting as much defiance into the action as I could as a tear fell from my eye. _

_ "Make sure she forgets _him_."_

_ No. James. No. He was real. I knew him. I knew him. I knew him. _

_ Metal cuffs clamped down on my arms and wings tightly, holding my in place, and I stiffened, knowing what was coming. The metal arms descended towards my head. I breathed heavily, my heart pounding against my ribs like a drum. No, no, no, no, NO! Electricity crackled along the device. A whimper escaped my lips. My hands were clenched into fists, all my muscles tensed to snapping point. I knew him. I knew him. I knew him._

_ I loved him._

_ They tightened against my head, and unimaginable pain seared through me, tearing apart my memories, my life, my identity. I screamed, straining in vain against my restraints. My throat and lungs burned. I couldn't get air. Wordless screams of agony tore from my lungs. Make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP—_

"Do it," I whispered. The memory was over, gone. It had lasted only a moment. A tear fell down my cheek. "Do it."

He stared at me for a split second, his blue eyes widening almost imperceptibly, and for that second I had hope that he would remember me, that he would let me go. I thought about what I had told Eli, about the four of us living at my house on the lake. If James would just remember—

He blinked, and the moment was gone. He brought his fist down, and my world went black once more.

_I walked down the street with my hands in my pockets, my eyes scanning the storefronts through the lenses of the sunglasses. I knew I shouldn't have come, but I couldn't resist. There was so much that I didn't know, about history, about myself… and Canada wasn't exactly known for its abundant libraries on American politics and history._

_ I had come to the town the day before to gather supplies as well as books, journals, and writing utensils, all of which were back home. I always would take two or three days whenever I had to get supplies; I would spend the first two gathering essentials and the last one exploring. I went to a different town each time, if I could, not wanting to be spotted by someone who recognized me. _

_ I looked around. I needed to get to a wooded place where I could take off, and then I would be home free. It was late October, and the air was deliciously cool. I had only lived here for a few years, but I had fallen in love with the land. It would start snowing soon, and I wished I had someone to talk to during the long winter months when I couldn't go outside to fly without fear of freezing my wings off. Right now it was nice outside, only in the fifties, which for here was not cold at all. I had a trench coat on to cover my wings, but no gloves or hat. I twisted my engagement ring around my finger, staring down at it sadly. James would have loved it here._

_ "Hey, you! Stop!" _

_ I kept walking, sure that no one was talking to me. I hadn't been seen by anyone but H.Y.D.R.A. in almost fifty years, there was no chance that someone recognized me._

_ Someone's hand clamped down on my shoulder and spun me around. I froze and stared up into the face of S.H.I.E.L.D. director Nick Fury. _

_ What was S.H.I.E.L.D.? How did I know that? How did I know who this man was? I had never met him before. _

_ I blinked and gave him a confused smile. "Hello," I said, tilting my head. "Can I help you?"_

_ "I've been looking for you everywhere," he snarled. "You're under arrest for murder and treason of the highest order." _

_ I blinked, stunned. "What are you talking about?" I tried to tug my arm away, growing nervous. My mind flashed back to all those fuzzy years I had been a prisoner of H.Y.D.R.A. I vaguely remembered missions, but I had blocked off the details. Had I murdered someone? I hoped I hadn't, but the darkest corners of my mind whispered that I had._

_ His face grew hard, and his grip grew painfully tight. I yanked against his grip uselessly. "Let me go!"_

_ "Shut up and come with me," he hissed, reaching back behind his back._

_ 'Firearm,' my instincts screamed._

_ When he removed the gun from its holster, I was ready. I grabbed the hand that was holding me and twisted so that my back was pressed against his front. With all the force I could muster, I grabbed the hand holding the gun and, releasing my hold on his other arm, slammed my palm into the wrist holding the gun. Fury let out a yell and dropped the gun as his bone snapped, and I grabbed it, springing away._

_ I held the weapon at my side, staring at him with wide eyes. I was breathing a bit heavily, but not much. Adrenaline was running through me, the thrill of the fight singing through my veins. He was staring at me in shock, cradling his injured arm close to his chest. I looked down at the gun and shuddered. I didn't want to hold it. I was done with that life. I didn't want the Angel taking over. Never again._

_ A sudden blast of sound made me look up, but it cut off very suddenly. I stared blankly at Fury, who was holding another gun our in front of him, aiming directly at me. I was confused. Had he shot me? Had he missed? My shoulder began to heat up, and I looked down. There was a small hole in my jacket that covered my shoulder. As I watched, blood began to appear around the entry wound, and it began to heat up, feeling as though a molten piece of metal was being driven into my shoulder. I screamed and staggered back, my arm dangling at my side. _

_ Angel was rising. No, no, fight it, fight it—_

_ Fury moved closer. "Come with me," he snapped. He reached out and grabbed my left hand, the one attached to my injured shoulder, and I reacted. I swung my hand out and raked my fingernails down his face, tearing into his skin and digging into his eye. I wanted to throw up. He screamed, a sound I never forgot, and pulled back, keeping a grip on my hand. I pulled away, freeing myself from his grip, and when I did, a slight, familiar pressure disappeared as well. I sprinted away, staggering slightly because of my injury, and took to the sky._

_ Afterwards, I didn't recall the journey home. I remembered landing and making it inside and having to stitch up the wound myself, staring into mirrors to get it right. The bullet had passed through and hadn't stuck, which was good. It wasn't until that night, when I woke up screaming and went to twist my ring around my finger, that I realized what was wrong. My engagement ring was gone. It had come off when Fury tried to hold me back. I cried for days. I was too weak to go find the man myself, and I had no idea where he was. I knew it was useless and would only get me killed, so I never went after him. I moved my purity ring to take its place, but my hand always felt extra light after that._

I opened my eyes. I was being dragged by the Winter Soldier into the mouth of what looked like a prison, or a dungeon, or a cave. It reeked of rot and damp, and the sound of dripping water made my blood run cold.

I was disoriented and weak, and I didn't immediately remember what had happened. "Where am I?"

Someone behind me—not the Winter Soldier—replied with a cold chuckle, using the murderous nickname I had been given decades before. "Welcome home, _Angel_."

It took a few seconds for my mind to compute what was going on, and when I did, I started screaming and fighting for my life.

H.Y.D.R.A. had finally found me.


	16. Chapter 16

I screamed until my throat tore. I kicked until my feet bled. I wept until my eyes went dry. It was no use. He dragged me down hallway after hallway, always moving, never ceasing. I fought back flashbacks, forcing myself to stay in the present. I couldn't black out. I had to fight. He had a firm hold of my upper arms, and my wrists were shackled firmly together behind me. My wings were strapped down, held against my back.

I was terrified. The man that held me wasn't some random soldier, some random member of H.Y.D.R.A. It was James. James was the one who had captured me, who had brought me down. He was the one that brought me here. He was the one that had hit me, that had chained me, who had murdered my friend before my eyes. He was leading me to my death. But it wasn't him, was it? It was the Winter Soldier.

We entered a room at the end of the tunnel, and my stomach dropped. I twisted back, shrieking, and tried to fight the man holding me, but it was no use. His metal hand grasped my arm so tightly that I thought it would break, but I didn't stop trying to escape, even when sobs tore from my lips. He hauled me over to the wall almost without effort, ignoring me attempts to kick and bite at him. All semblance of reason left me. I was a wild animal, fighting for my life.

He wrapped his metal arm around my chest, pinning my wings and arms between our bodies, and unlocked the chains holding my wrists. The instant the first chain slipped, my arm was free, twisting and clawing. The Soldier grabbed my wrist, forcing it away from his face.

There was a mirror to my right, and I turned my head involuntarily to stare into it. My reflection stared back. If I hadn't been so frightened by the situation I was in, I would have been terrified by the girl staring back at me from the glass. She was deathly pale, and dried blood adorned her hairline, nose, and lips. Her hair was matted, and sweat poured from her skin. Her eyes were wild, those of a cornered animal, and so afraid that my heart broke, even as my mind registered that it was I that I was seeing. This glance lasted a fraction of a moment before my attention was captured by the man who held a gun to James's head. I froze, my blood turning to ice.

"Ms. Rogers," he nodded, his features hard. I recognized him. This was the man who, in my memory, had ordered my wiped, ordered my memory of James to be erased. Hatred warmed my bones as the Angel struggled to rise to the surface. The Soldier forced my arm down, paying no attention to the man beside him. "I swear to God, if you try to escape again, I will put a bullet through his head."

My body, already shaking, trembled so violently that it was only the Soldier's grip on my waist that kept me from collapsing. "No you won't," I rasped. H.Y.D.R.A. had spent decades and a large fortune creating the Winter Soldier. He wouldn't throw that away. Not for me.

He lifted an eyebrow. Cold, merciless eyes stared into mine, and I wondered how he could be so unmoved by the face I was seeing in the mirror. "Do you want to test that theory?"

He cocked the gun. The Soldier didn't move. I didn't know if he registered the sound, or if he knew what was going on. What was I doing? Was I throwing away everything to protect a shell? If I let James live, there was every chance that I would die. James was gone. James is gone. James is gone.

The man moved the muzzle of the gun to rest against James's forehead. James. My James. My heart rate, already elevated, lurched to a dizzying speed. "No—" I gasped, listing forward. "No, please—" my voice broke, and I turned to face the real man beside me. He was old now, I noticed. Old men shouldn't be murderers. They should know better.

He remained impassive, and he didn't move. My eyes remained glued on the muzzle. "No, what?" he taunted. Hatred flared up within me, and I ground my teeth together.

His finger moved closer to the trigger, and a whimper escaped my lips as my defiant spirit began to whither and die in the face of losing my fiancé. "Don't kill him. Please, don't kill him."

He pointed the gun at me, getting no reaction. If anything, I stood taller. My rage burned brighter, flooding my bones. I didn't care if I died. Not anymore. All it mattered was how much of H.Y.D.R.A. I could take with me. I just couldn't bear for Bucky to lose his life because of me. "Don't try anything."

I was shaking, but I nodded all the same. I didn't know what horrors were in store for me, but I knew that I would not make it if James were to be killed, not if there was even a spark of life—of himself—hidden within the soldier. I was here because I wanted to save him and because I had made a foolish mistake in going after him alone. He chained my wrists to the wall. All the time I kept the man in my peripheral vision, not letting him out of my sight.

When the Winter Soldier was done and had stepped back, the old man began to laugh. It was a hard, cold sound, and it rang throughout the room, echoing off the walls. He pointed the gun at James, and as I yelled, surging back, he pulled the trigger. My heart tore in half, and my legs gave way. It was a blank. It wasn't real. I had been right—he wouldn't have killed him. Not for me. He pulled himself upright and wiped his face free of any emotion.

"You shouldn't have run," he told me, his voice a low hiss that made my skin crawl. "Do you remember how you escaped last time?"

I did. I flew away.

He nodded, and I heard other people filing into the room. "You're never going to escape again. Leastwise, not that way."

My breath caught in my throat, and I lost the ability to function for a minute. They were going to cut off my wings. The realization ran through my mind a hundred times as light speed before I really registered what was about to happen, and when I did, I acted. They cut the harness from my wings, and instantly I was fighting, beating my wings against them and kicking back as much as I could. This would not happen. I wouldn't let this happen.

A moment later, a crushing weight slammed against me, pinning me to the wall, my wings trapped and fluttering weakly. The people who had entered the room took advantage of the Soldier's action—I knew it was the Winter Soldier holding me there—and fettered my wings as well, spreading them out. I had never felt so helpless, so afraid, so _angry_. The Soldier moved off me but kept his metal hand wrapped around my neck, holding me still against the wall. Tears of terror and anger began to run down my face.

"Please," I whispered. The first bolts of agony shot through me, and I pressed myself against the stone, screaming. "_PLEASE!_"

I struggled to move my wings, beat the attackers away—and then there was only one. My screams reached a nightmarish pitch as my mind began to slip, as even the Angel grew too panicked and terrified to take over.

_"JAMES, PLEASE!"_

For a second, his hand slipped. He let go of me, and I pressed my chest against the wall to try and move away from the pain. The screams that echoed through that room were terrifying in and of themselves and would have driven anyone mad. The pain that accompanied the screams, however… there's no describing it. I clenched my teeth against the pain, grinding them together as my throat tore from the intensity of the shrieks coming from my body. I tried to escape, to throw my body against the chains, to tear my wing free—and then it was gone.

I was lighter and unbalanced and in so much pain that I wanted nothing more than to die. Blood was everywhere, coating my skin and the stone. I moved in and out of consciousness, my body unable to cope. Sobs and screams tore through my lips. I hung by my wrists from the wall, unable to keep my feet. The faceless, nameless monsters behind me stitched up the open wounds and unshackled my wrists. I crumpled to the floor and landed in a pool of my own blood, unable to move or make a sound other than a whimper.

I felt strong arms pick me up and carry me away. My head lolled uselessly, my vision swaying and lurching and fading. I didn't want to move, because if I did I would feel more pain, and then I would know that it was real; and I couldn't pretend that it was a dream.

Bits and pieces of phrases reached my ears.

"Make her an example."

"Draw them out."

I was deposited on a stone floor of a small cell, and the door slammed shut behind me. I stayed where I fell, unable to move. I was in shock, and I was afraid, and I was broken. I had lost everything. My brother didn't remember me. My fiancé was the reason I was trapped here in the first place. Eli was dead. I was alone.

I reached over my shoulder and touched my back where my wings had been. Torn flesh and a couple of ragged feathers met my touch, and I recoiled, curling into a tighter ball. Tears leaked from my eyes.

I managed to drag myself into a corner, and there I stayed, shivering. I wanted to die. I wanted this to end.

All that had happened in the last few days shot through my mind like a feverish nightmare. Finally accepting that Eli was a part of my little family. Visiting the museum and finding proof to show my brother that I was real. Running into him and fleeing the building. Seeing Eli's murder. Attacking the Winter Soldier. Being captured and dragged here. Having my wings cut off.

A broken sob escaped my lips, and I curled up tighter, slipping into unconsciousness.

I don't know how long I stayed there. Sometimes people would come in and hold me down while others did something to the wounds on my back. I supposed they wanted to keep them from being infected; keep me alive longer. They stopped coming when bodies started returning to the labs in place of the scientists. The Angel would take over more and more often, and it was getting harder to stop her, because we wanted the same thing. We wanted them _dead_.

Sometimes they would push a bowl of mash through a little slot. There was a faucet in the corner of the cell for drinking, and a drain in the center of the little stone room.

I didn't touch the food, and I only drank when the need for water grew too great. I rinsed the blood from my skin as best I could, repulsed by the tacky, crumbling feel and iron scent. After that, I sat in the corner, facing the door, and waited. I waited for death. Not mine, see. Theirs. They wanted the Angel of Death, and I was going to give it to them, one way or another. They woke the sleeping dragon, and they would face the consequences.

My mind and attitude switched from Katie Rogers to the Angel of Death quite often. Sometimes I would be sitting, wishing I could die. The next moment I would be raging, snarling and screaming. I found that it was the memory of Eli's death that brought about the Angel's return, and so I tried not to think about it. I—Katie—didn't want to be a murderer. The Angel _was_ one.

I had had some experience with this before, when I was beginning to awaken from my original imprisonment. The thought of James and Steve's deaths would send me into frenzy, and I vaguely remember killing guards, tearing their throats out with my fingernails.

As soon as I began to recognize these symptoms, my mind slowly began to awaken and I was able to separate the two personalities. Both of them agreed on one thing, though, and it was that thought that sent me into the corner, staring blankly at the door: my wings were gone. For the last however many decades, escape was always a wing-beat away. Now it was impossible. And it was that knowledge, I believed, that was driving me mad.

One day, the door opened. I didn't move from my spot on the wall but glared up through my hair at the figure in defiance. Katie was in control then, not the Angel, and I planned on keeping it that way as long as possible.

The figure entered the room, and the door shut behind them. It was a girl.

I pushed the Angel down. The least I could do was see what this girl wanted before attacking.

She looked to be around my same age and had long, brown hair. Her face and form were gaunt, and her eyes were haunted. She knelt down on her knees before me, her eyes never leaving mine.

Still, I didn't move. I didn't understand why she was here. I didn't know if she was a threat or not, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and at least hear what she had to say. I wasn't a murderer. At least, Katie wasn't.

We stared at each other in silence, and she lifted her hands till they were level with my face. Her eyes flashed red, and a searing pain tore through my mind. I screamed and lurched forward onto my knees, my forehead pressed against the ground. I held my head in my hands, forcing it from flying apart.

Flashes of memory, good and bad, sped through my mind like a movie on fast-forward. Was I dying? Was this my life flashing before my eyes? No, I realized. It was flashing before _hers_. She was reading my mind.

As soon as I realized this, rage pulsed through me, and the pain stopped. I let out a pained gasp; my teeth clenched together, and lifted my face until it was inches from hers. Her eyes were wide and frightened.

"Who are you?" I breathed. I fought with all my mind to hold back the Angel, keep it at bay. I was stronger. I had to be stronger. "What do you want?"

She blinked. "You knew I was in your mind," she said, sounding amazed. Her accent was familiar. Russian? Ukrainian? Romanian? "How did you do that?"

I shook my head. I had no idea how I had done it. "Stay out of my head," I rasped, my ragged fingernails digging into the stone.

She glanced around furtively. "Who are you, really?" she whispered.

I swallowed, my throat aching. I had to say it. I had to confirm it, hear myself saying it. I had to drive the Angel away. "Katie," I whispered.

"My name is Wanda," she whispered back. "I am here with my brother."

I closed my eyes and sat back against the wall, letting pleasant memories play in my mind. A small smile crossed my lips. "You have a brother?" I asked. My voice, my real voice, squeaked through my rough whisper for a moment.

"Yes. A twin. He is older than I, though." She was silent for a few moments. "Do you have a brother?"

"Yes," I replied. My smile was gone. He died. I found him. He forgot me. I twitched, the Angel grasping for a hold of me, and I clenched my fists. "But he forgot about me."

"No brother can forget his sister," she argued. I opened my eyes. She seemed genuinely distressed.

"Mine did," I murmured, digging my nails into my palms. "He tried to kill me."

Wanda's eyes widened.

"Why are you here?" I asked her softly. "Are you a prisoner too?"

She shook her head no. "I volunteered to be here. My brother and I, we… have been enhanced." Her eyes flashed red for a moment. "Why? Are you a prisoner?"

In response, I began pulling myself to my feet. She scrambled to find hers as well, and watched me warily as I turned around, showing her my exposed back. I held on to the wall, trying to keep from falling over. I was entirely unbalanced, unused to the familiar weight of my wings. "I was enhanced, once," I told her, watching the wall. "Never by choice, though. I managed to escape, but they caught me." I reached back and ran my fingers over the wounds. One day they would only be scars. "They cut off my wings." My voice lowered into a snarl, and I turned around. _They cut off my wings. They cut off my wings._ My words seemed to echo through the stillness, ringing in my ears, and it drove the Angel back. Wanda was staring at me in horror, her grey eyes huge.

"You had wings?" she whispered. She seemed troubled, more troubled than an enemy should.

I nodded. Someone knocked on the door, and Wanda glanced back.

"What are you doing here?" I asked softly. "With me."

She looked back at me. "They wished for me to twist your mind," she answered. "But I have not, and I will not."

"Why?" I asked her, genuinely curious. It wasn't as if there was anything to twist. My mind was a labyrinth, a death trap. Anyone who tried to go in there would lose their own mind.

She spread her arms slightly. "Because I have seen into your mind—and you are not my enemy."

"Will you do something for me?" I asked her softly. Someone knocked on the door again, louder this time. She pursed her lips but nodded. "If I die…" I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around my chest as the Angel inside of me recoiled at the thought and fought harder to gain control. Sweat trickled down my face at the effort of holding her back. My head pounded as though someone was pounding it with a mallet. I opened my eyes and stared into the girl's, my own burning with intensity. "Find my brother. Find him. And tell him I'm sorry. I didn't want Eli to die." The pain in my head reached a deafening pitch, and I fell to my knees.

"I will."

I let out a whimper and clutched at my head, sucking in breath through my teeth as the pain grew stronger.

"What's happening?" She sounded frightened.

_She should be._

"Get out," I panted, my fingernails digging into my temples. "She's winning, get out!"

Wanda backed up, feet slapping against the stone. "Who's winning?"

"Go!" I screamed.

The door slammed shut, and I let out a furious, haunted cry. The Angel was taking over me, filling my heart with darkness and hate. The irony: that the side of me I tried to force down, the side that tried to kill me, was named after a creature of light. A sob tore from my lips.

"Please, please, please," I murmured, rocking back and forth. "Let me go, let me go, let me go."

I was praying, begging, whimpering. Whatever sane part of my mind that was left was pleading with God to take me, to free me, to let me leave this awful place, to free me from the Angel's control. I didn't want to fight. I didn't want to kill.  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me—"

And then she was gone.

I opened my eyes. I was curled into the corner in the far edge of the room. I was me. I was Katie. I could feel the Angel inside me, but she wasn't fighting me. She was there, but for now, she wasn't a threat. A gasp of relief escaped my lips, and I rested my forehead on my knees, shaking. "Thank you," I whispered.

I had to get out of here. I needed Steve to remember me. I was going to live. I was going to have a family. I would die surrounded by the people I loved, whether in a hospital bed or on the battlefield, but I would_ not _die here. And I would die as me. Not as America's Angel. Not as the Angel of Death. I would die as Katie Rogers. And I would never lose sight of who I was. Never again.


	17. Chapter 17

After Wanda's visit, there was nothing to do but wait. I couldn't fight my way out, that much was certain. I had lost hope, mostly. I wanted to believe that a miracle would happen, that I would be free once more—but I couldn't help the hopelessness that pressed down on me like a dank, smothering fog.

Nothing within my cell changed. The walls and floors were cold, rough stone. There was a grate about ten feet up that allowed dim light to filter through, but there was no was I could reach it. That made it even worse, knowing that there was a way out and that I couldn't get to it. What was even more horrible that that, though, was that this was the same cell I had been in the first time. I hadn't noticed it as first, but then I saw the marks on the stone: it looked like a tiger had taken out its anger on the wall. The Angel.

I was too weak to build up muscle. I could barely stand, much less start doing push ups. I wondered how long I had been down here. There was do way to know for sure. Weeks at best, I guessed. I spent my days staring at the opposite wall, reliving old memories. Good memories. The baseball game Steve took me to when I was fourteen. Playing with James and Steve on the playground. Scraping my knee and James carrying me home to my mom when I was little. Being proposed to. Escaping this place the first time. I searched through them for a way to escape. Unfortunately, most times I was in trouble, Steve or James, or both, had been there to save me. Never again. I was entirely and completely alone.

I did eat, though. I started to at least build up that strength, eating as much as the much as I could. I tried to count the days using the bowls, but it was irregular. Sometimes I would get two meals in a relatively short amount of time; sometimes it would feel like days before I would get one.

I started staring at the door, looking for a way out. Steel. Thick. Smooth. No lock—at least not on the inside. No handle.

I fell asleep.

_James stood beside me, squinting against the blinding snow and wind. "You shouldn't have come," he muttered to me, giving my hand a squeeze. I opened my mouth to retort, but he cut me off, smiling at me. "But I'm glad you're here."_

_ I smiled at him nervously. The truth was, I was afraid—terrified, actually—that something was going to go wrong and I was going to lose both James and Steve._

_ It was one thing knowing my bother and best friend were out fighting while I was stuck back at the base. It was another to know that my _fiancé_ was going on a very dangerous mission with the only family I had left in the world. So this time, I had come along despite all protests, pointing out that they couldn't keep me away even if they tried._

_ James bent down and kissed me, startling me from my thoughts. I wrapped my arms around his neck, a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in my chest. 'One day,' I thought blissfully, 'This man will be my husband.' Steve cleared his throat, looking distinctively uncomfortable, and we pulled apart. _

_ My brother motioned towards the train tracks far below, and James's smile fell. "Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"_

_ Steve had turned back to face the mountain. "Yeah, and I threw up?"_

_ I glanced at the long cable that stretched between the peaks and I shuddered, shaking out my arms as nervous butterflies flitted around inside me._

_ "This isn't payback, is it?"_

_ Steve glanced back at me, a small smile on his face. "Now why would I do that?"_

_ Something told me that it had something to do with me, but I said nothing. Apprehension grew within me, and my hands began to shake. Something was about to happen. I wanted to scream, run, pull the two men away from this cliff. I wanted to abort the mission and damn the consequences. But I didn't._

_ One of the Howling Commandos broke through the silence. "We were right. Doctor Zola's on the train." The three of us turned back to the two men crouched over the radio. "H.Y.D.R.A. dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle." The look on James's face was murderous, and I touched his hand. He jumped, and then relaxed slightly, giving me a tight-lipped smile. "Wherever he's going they must need him bad."_

_ Steve put on his helmet and crossed over to the cable, the other Commandos following. The train approaches rapidly, flying down the tracks. I opened my mouth to say something, try and beg my brother to abort the mission, but nothing came out._

_ One of the other soldiers spoke up. "Let's get going, because they're moving like the devil."_

_ Steve fastened his clip to the cable, James and I doing the same._

_ "We only got about a ten second window. You miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield."_

_ "Mind the gap," another replied._

_ The man behind me, whom I was rather fond of, grinned. "Better get moving, bugs!" he shouted._

_ Steve jumped, and James followed. Without looking down, I followed, another man right behind me. I held onto that belt for dear life, feeling the wind tug at my hair and clothes and very aware of the abyss looming below me. The train was right beneath us—Steve dropped into a crouch. James did the same, and I followed, landing on my feet. It was difficult to keep my footing—the roof was icy and the wind threatened to blow me over the side. The soldier behind me guided me forward, instructing me on where to place my feet as we hurried towards the front of the train. Steve began climbing down the side, and we followed. My heart was in my throat. James and I followed Steve inside through the side door and them pulled it shut. The fourth member of our team would be going on ahead to capture Zola while we fought our way up to meet him._

_ The compartment was dark, and shelves full of metal containers lined the room. We began slowly creeping towards the opposite end of the room, guns gripped tightly with shaking fingers. I followed directly behind James, watching and listening for any sign that something might be going wrong. So far, everything seemed to be going smoothly._

_ When we reached the door leading into the next compartment, Steve turned around. I could read his expression perfectly, even with the mask. This was too easy. My stomach dropped to my toes. Steve made it into the other room, and just as James was about to follow, the door slammed shut, sealing us in. The door to Steve's compartment did the same, and he leapt forward, searching for a way to get the door open._

_ "Get down!" James yelled. I ducked out of the way as he opened fire on a soldier who had entered the compartment from the opposite direction. Fear clouded my mind. No. This was what I had feared. I was going to lose—_

_ NO. I forced the fear away, taking a deep, shaky breath. I would not lose them. Not today, not ever. I cocked my gun and crouched down behind a pile of crates, waiting for an opening. James ducked down next to me, and the soldier fired back. The bullets sparked against the wall mere inches from us, and James shielded me as he injected a new clip into the gun. "Stay back," he murmured. His eyes were wide and panicked, but not for himself. For me. _

_ He jumped up and continued firing, continuously shooting and ducking back as he exchanged fire. I could hear gunfire coming from my brother's compartment, and somewhere within me, something clicked. I peeked around the corner and took a shot, then another, then another. The soldier staggered backwards, off-balance for a moment. His goggles had been cracked. _

_ He moved closer and closer, and James moved to the other wall, emptying his clip as he went. I tossed him my gun, and he caught it. He crouched down opposite me and continued exchanging fire. I shrank back, gripping my knife. I was better at hand-to-hand combat, but not the best, and I would wait to rush out there until I had to._

_ James took two more shots and then hunkered down, swearing. His gun was empty. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He was defenseless, and the soldier was coming closer. "No," I breathed._

_ The door beside me slid open, revealing Steve. He tossed James his gun and then ran into the room and slammed his shield against the shelf, sending its contents flying across the room. The soldier was forced to move, and James took him out. He dropped to the floor._

_ I took a deep breath and stood. James wrapped his arms around me. I was about to start crying. "You're okay," he whispered into my hair. I nodded quickly. "You're okay."_

_ James looked up. "I had him on the ropes," he said, panting._

_ Steve nodded and placed his hand on my shoulder. "I know you did."_

_ A high-pitched keening filled the room, and I turned around just as Steve shoved James and I behind him. "Get down!" A soldier armed with H.Y.D.R.A. technology fired at us, knocking Steve backwards and blowing a hole in the train. James picked up the shield, keeping me behind him, and began firing at the soldier. Steve was on the ground opposite us, trying to get up. The soldier fired again, and the force of it knocked James backwards into me, throwing us both out the side of the train. I remember screaming and then feeling a strong hand catch hold of my waist, pulling me back. Somehow, James managed to catch both me and the side of the train. He pulled me up beside him, and I managed to wedge my foot into a gap to keep from falling off._

_ "Bucky!" Steve was there, climbing towards us. "Katie!"_

_ James pushed me towards my brother. It's alright, I thought, trying to calm my panicked mind. We're going to be alright—_

_ "Hang on!" Steve barked, moving closer._

_ "Get her!" James yelled. He pushed me forward, and Steve grabbed me. He pulled me over so that I was pressed between him and the train, and then he reached for James. I watched with wild eyes, unable to do anything._

_ "Grab my hand!" Their fingers were inches from touching._

_ The handle supporting James's weight snapped. "No!" Steve yelled. _

_ "James!" I screamed. _

_ The rail detached from the side of the train, and James fell, screaming, reaching for us. My heart fell with him, tearing free from my chest. I reached for him as Steve dropped down, reaching out to him in vain. _

_ "James!" My voice was a scream, a wail that joined in with the keening of the wind. _

_ The horrified look on his face, his terrified screams—they burned themselves into my mind. I couldn't look away. He fell down the mountainside. He passed out of sight. He was gone. Steve didn't make a sound. He pressed himself against me, holding me in place against the train, and wept, his cheeks against my hair. I was in too much shock to move, to cry, to do anything. Three words burned themselves into my mind, engrained there forever: '_It's your fault._'_

Steve was in his room, his hand in his hands. He remembered. He remembered everything. Over the past month, every memory of Katie, his little sister, had returned. Every smile, every tear, every word exchanged between them. He remembered her fiery spirit, her love for him, her love for Bucky. He remembered how changed she had become after he fell. He remembered hearing her terrified voice over the intercom as he hurtled towards the ocean. He thought about what she had said when she first saw him. _"You're supposed to be dead." _At the time, he had gotten so worked up about those five little words, and he didn't understand why. He didn't understand why he was so concerned with her, why he would get worked up whenever she was in the room. Now he did. It was because he had been searching for memories but unable to find any, although he still didn't understand why.

He wondered how she had gotten her wings, what all had happened to her in the time he had been frozen. He wondered where she was now. After Clint's brother was shot, she had disappeared, and no one had found any sign of her. They hadn't stopped searching, but that day they had returned to the tower to do an overview of all the places they had been or needed to go. Thor had left almost right after Eli had been killed; he had to return to Asgard and help keep the peace there, so they were one man down. Clint had disappeared for a while, but no one knew where he had gone, only that he needed to be alone.

When he had come back, he had been focused and angry. _"They killed my brother,"_ he had growled. _"I'll be damned if I let them get your sister too."_

Tony appeared in the doorway, a slight grin on his face. "Suit up, Cap. We found her."

I opened my eyes as the lock clicked. It took about a second for me to realize what was happening, and I struggled to my feet, pressing my back against the wall. The door swung open, and several men strode into the room. In the center, the old man stood, leering at me. His eyes raked over my starved figure before locking with mine. "Bring her."

He turned and strode from the room, and the soldiers converged on me, holding me tightly. I fought, trying to kick at them, but I barely had the strength to stand. I couldn't get away. They fought back, punching me as well. One grabbed hold of my hair, yanking my head back and punching me in the gut. They dragged me to a room I remembered very well. A chair sat in the corner. I froze and then began fighting with renewed vigor, screaming.

They pushed me back against the chair. I fought back. I wouldn't let them take my identity away. Not again. I swore I'd never lose who I was. I was screaming, kicking, clawing.

"Wipe her."

I found my voice. "No, PLEASE!"

"Tie her down. We need to be thorough this time. No mistakes." The man turned and left the room, leaving the scientists to do their work. One man grabbed my hair, forcing me to be still as he jerked my head back, allowing them to strap my arms in. The restraints froze my arms and held me in place.

I caught James's eye as he walked into the room. "James, PLEASE! HELP ME!"

The machine came closer, crackling with electricity. "PLEASE!"

They shoved a mouth guard between my lips, and a couple of the guards held my legs down. The machine clamped down around my head, and my world became pain, and then there was nothing.

"This is it." The team stood before what looked like an abandoned military bunker.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Steve started hurrying down the incline, sliding a bit on the old, wet leaves that littered the entrance. The others followed warily. They were in a tunnel moving down, deep underground. The only light was that of Tony's suit. The _drip, drip _of water was constant and was putting the whole team on edge.

"Wait." The five of them froze. Tony turned around. The others watched him, unable to see his face through the mask of the suit. "There are heat signatures down this way." He turned to the left and followed the tunnel until it split into three. He frowned, studying all three of them. "There are people down each path," he said, frowning. He had the heat vision setting on. He should have been able to make out which one was Katie based off her wings, but he didn't see anything.

"Which path is Katie down?" Natasha asked.

Tony shook his head. "I don't know. We need to split up," he said, raising his voice. "Pair up and go search the tunnel. If you find her, get her out. If not, come back here and meet up with another team. Try not to engage any hostiles, if possible." He took in the angry, murderous looks on Barton and Rogers's faces. It was unlikely that either of them would listen to him: they were out for blood. To be safe, he split them up. "Barton, Romanoff, you two take the left tunnel." The two assassins nodded and disappeared. "Rogers, Banner, you take the right." They vanished. Tony took the center one himself. "Alright, Jarvis," he muttered, eyes flickering over the screen. "What am I looking at?"

"There appears to be a great deal of power being used in the room straight ahead, sir."

"Are there any hostiles in that room?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Alright."

He moved closer. It still was a good two hundred meters away when he heard screaming. He nearly jumped out of his skin. "Jarvis—" he croaked.

"It's her, sir."

He took off, sprinting for the door. Halfway there, the screams stopped. He rammed into the door and it flew open, revealing a crowd of people; scientists, mostly. There was one man, however, in all black, with a mask. He turned his head towards Stark, but Tony had already seen the little figure curled up in the chair in the corner. "Oh, god," he breathed.

The next few minutes were all fighting. The scientists fled the room while the black-armored soldier held him off. Tony noticed a few seconds into the fight that the man had a bionic arm, and he used it to his advantage, sending out a small EMP—making sure it didn't mess with his suit—and frying the circuits. The man's arm shorted out, and with one last look, he ran.

Tony bent over, gasping. That man sure packed a punch. He crossed over to Katie, his heart hammering. They hadn't gotten off to a good start, but he didn't want he to be dead. It would kill Steve and Clint both, he knew. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he whispered. "Katie. It's Tony. Wake up."

She didn't move. There were burns on her temples and bruises on her arms and legs and face. She was dangerously thin; he could have wrapped his entire hand around her thigh, it was so small. Something else was wrong, he knew it, and it wasn't until he had picked her up out of the chair and was cradling her in his arms that he realized. Her wings were gone.


	18. Chapter 18

Tony began sprinting back up towards the surface, trying to contact the others. "Guys? Guys I found her. We have a problem. Guys?" He reached the rendezvous point, but none of the others were there.

"Guys!" he bellowed down the tunnel. He heard footsteps against the stone, and moments later, Romanoff and Barton appeared. Both their eyes widened when they saw the state she was in. Natasha pressed her lips together and looked away, and Barton's face visibly paled.

"Is she alive?" Clint reached out and felt for a pulse.

"Barely," Tony replied tersely. "I don't know what all is wrong with her."

"Where's Steve?" Natasha asked.

"Here," Rogers replied, appearing out of the darkness with Banner beside him. He caught sight of his sister, and the blood drained from her face. "Oh my—" he cut himself off as he took her limp form from Tony and cradled her in his arms as though she were a newborn. "What happened to her?"

Tony shook his head as sirens began to wail from deep underground, the haunting sound sending shivers down their spines. "I don't know, but we need to go. Now."

:*:*:*:*:

I began to wake up. I didn't want to move, or think, or feel.

_'Am I dead?'_

No. I was in too much pain to be dead. My back burned, but I didn't remember why. Low voices murmured nearby, and a constant, incessant beeping caught my attention.

"She's been through a lot," someone said. "It'll take a while for her to make a full recovery."

"But she will?" Another voice asked urgently. "She'll make a full recovery, won't she?"

I scrunched my eyebrows together. My head hurt too badly to think, so I listened. The other person sounded hesitant. "I can't be sure. She went through an incredibly traumatic experience, she's in critical condition, and for someone of her age…"

"Um…" a third person joined the conversation. "Isn't she older than all of us? Except Cap, of course."

"Physically… maybe? Mentally, no." The first voice sounded confused, worried. I wondered why. "She was subjected to the Infinity Formula at a young age, as you know, and was on ice for a while, so although her cells are old, they haven't deteriorated in the same way a normal human's would."

_A_ _normal_ _human_? What did that mean? Where am I? _What _am I?

"What about mentally?" A fourth party joined in. This one, unlike the other three, was female. "She spent a lot of time on ice, after all."

A shudder ran through me, and goosebumps appeared on my flesh. Something about that was so, so wrong.

"How did you retrieve her from her prison?" A fifth voice joined in, this one male as well. This one sounded richer, as though the speaker was much older and wiser than the others.

"Tony found her," the woman said softly. "When we took the base last week. We went in, and he found her in the back strapped to a chair."

"Any idea what they were doing to her?" another one asked.

"No," the first voice said regretfully.

"I might," the woman said softly. She sighed. I held very still, not wanting to miss a word. This was about me; I knew it. "I read up on the her file. Her mind and body, while a prisoner of H.Y.D.R.A. the first time, were pushed to the absolute limit of human tolerance. It's a miracle she's here with us now. Over the years, she was repeatedly subjected to a technique called Wiping. They, essentially, would erase her memories, her identity, using electricity to scramble her mind."

_"Wipe her." _

_"NO! Let me go! PLEASE!"_

_ "Tie her down, we need to be thorough this time."_

_ "James, PLEASE! HELP ME!"_

I wanted to run. For the first time, I felt the restrains around my wrists and hips. The beeping picked up as I began to sweat. I didn't remember anything. Why couldn't I remember anything?

"Then how did she remember who she was?" the very first voice asked.

The third picked up where the first left off. "She found us, all those months ago. She appeared on our doorstep and knew exactly who she was and who her brother was; how could that have happened if her brain had been fried?"

"Guys, her heart—"

I was almost fully awake by now. I needed to run. I needed to escape. I didn't open my eyes. I couldn't. I was petrified. H.Y.D.R.A. How did I know that name? Why didn't I remember anything? I felt a hand on my shoulder and opened my mouth to scream, but nothing but a hoarse whisper came out. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I was afraid and alone, and I was in so, so much pain. _Let me die. Let me die. Please, let me die._

"Calm down. Katie, if you can hear me, you need to calm down. You're seriously hurt, and you can't freak out like this, it's not good for your heart. Calm down."

_'Who is Katie? Is it me?'_

"Bruce, what's happening?"

"I don't know."

_They pushed me back against the chair. I was too weak to resist, but I still tried to fight. I wouldn't let them take my identity away. Not again. I swore I'd never lose who I was. I was screaming, kicking, clawing._

_ "Wipe her."_

_ I found my voice. "No, PLEASE!"_

_ "Tie her down. We need to be thorough this time. No mistakes."_

_ They strapped my arms in, the restraints freezing my arms and holding me in place._

_ I caught James's eye as he walked into the room. "James, PLEASE! HELP ME!"_

_ The machine came closer, crackling with electricity. "PLEASE!"_

"Let me die. Let me die. Let me die." I repeated the mantra over and over, breathing it out. Maybe if I said it enough, God would take pity on me and kill me, take me home. "Let me die. Let me die. Please, let me die."

"Katie—" a broken, cracking voice spoke from beside me. "Katie, please… please stop. You're safe now."

I continued whispering, feeling hot, salty tears stream down my face and chin. The restrains were removed, I noticed. I was curled into a ball on my side. I felt so unbalanced without my wings. I gave a start. _Wings? I had wings?_

I ceased whispering for a moment, curiosity overcoming me, and the person beside me took in a sharp intake of breath. I reached back behind me and ran my fingers along my shoulders, reaching down to rest my fingertips lightly against my shoulder blades. Hot, inflamed skin met my touch, and I felt a stub of down catch on my broken fingernail.

With a weak, heartbroken cry, I retracted my hand. I pulled it close, cradling it against my chest as the mantra picked up again with renewed vigor. I curled into a tighter ball, my hands clamped tightly over my ears, my whisperings rising to panicked whimpers. "Let me die. Let me die. Let me die."

Little snippets of memory flashed before my eyes.

_A man with dark hair and terrified eyes fell from a train, screaming._

_ A grieved, frightened voice on the other end of a microphone gave way to static._

_ Men with gas masks shot at me, took me down, and dragged me away._

_ I was injected with countless amounts of drugs, subjected to multiple tests._

_ I woke up and tried to stand, only to fall back as unfamiliar weight dragged me backwards. There were wings attached to my back. I started to scream._

_ "Wipe her." They strapped me into a strange machine. Pain. Darkness. Ice._

_ A man with green eyes pleaded for mercy and got a bullet in his head._

_ A president and his wife drove through the city, smiling and waving. I moved to shoot, aiming for his head, but stopped short. There, across the street—who was that man? Blue eyes. Dark hair. I know him. He took the shots. The crowds began to scream._

_ I took cover, ducking into an old building. The president's guards were after me. The room began to burn. My sleeve caught fire, and I started to scream as my arm was consumed by the flames._

_ The old man stared at me without pity. "Then wipe her and start over. Put her back until she's ready to cooperate again." "Make sure she forgets him." I knew him. I knew him. I knew him. I loved him._

_ "Didn't you hear? Howard Stark and his wife were killed in a car accident." I shook my head, my ears ringing. Howard was gone. The only friend I had left in the world was gone. I turned and walked away, tears freezing on my cheeks_

_ "You are under arrest for murder and treason of the highest order."_

_ My engagement ring was gone._

_ H.Y.D.R.A. is going after Tony. I sat up straight in bed, suddenly sure. I threw off my covers, dressed, and was flying towards New York in under an hour._

_ A man in black waited for me and tried to kill me, cutting me with a switchblade. Footsteps sounded against the pavement, and the soldier ran away and left me for dead._

_ I groaned and opened my eyes. My side and back and leg burned. I remembered. The soldier stabbed me. A man stood in the room with me, and I froze. "Where am I?"_

_ Blue eyes, exactly like mine. Eyes that belonged to a man who died decades before. I couldn't breathe. "You're supposed to me dead."_

_ "James?" "Who the hell is James?"_

_ "No, no, Eli, NO!"_

_ "JAMES, HELP ME!" Searing pain tore through me. They were sawing off my wings, not just removing them. They wanted it to hurt. They wanted it to be messy. They wanted him to see. "PLEASE!"_

_ "NO!"_

_:*:*:*:*:_

Whimpers poured from her lips, and Steve watch helplessly as she lay shaking on the bed. Bruce stood in the corner, and the others were gathered in an adjoining room. Steve reached out to touch her wrist, and she pulled back with a cry, cheeks stained with fresh tears. The incessant mantra continued, nearly driving him out of his mind. "Let me die. Let me die. Let me die."

He covered his face with his hands and raked his fingers through his hair, feeling tears rising to his eyes. He could count on one hand how many times he had cried. Once when he was seven, the first time he was beat up, the same day his father died. He didn't cry after that; he had to be the strong one for his mom and baby sister. They were counting on him. The second time was after he watched Bucky die, when he cradled his little sister in his arms, when he tried and failed to drown his grief in alcohol. And now, the third, as he sat by his little sister's bedside, watching her be driven insane, trapped inside her own head.

"Can't you do anything?" he asked, his voice ragged. Tears were falling down his cheeks. How cruel was it that he would remember her, remember everything, only to have her be stolen right out from under his nose. And how cruel was it that she would be returned, months later, with, according to Banner, no memory of him at all. He wanted to scream.

"I don't know what's wrong with her," Bruce whispered, moving to stand by Steve's chair. "If I did, it would be easier, but…" he swallowed. "She's trapped in her own head. Giving her something to sleep would be worse; it would only trap her in."

"Will she wake up?" Steve asked urgently, catching ahold of the scientist's arm. His eyes were wide, desperate.

Bruce felt his breath catch. Steve didn't deserve this. He should've lived a long life in the forties, married Agent Carter, founded S.H.I.E.L.D., grown old with her. Katie should've married her James, lived a long, free life. Instead, the two orphans had been split apart by time and death and forced to live without one another. When they had found each other, one didn't remember the other. When he remembered, she forgot. It wasn't fair.

"I don't know," he whispered, watching the small, shaking figure pityingly. "Maybe it's better she doesn't." He blinked. He didn't mean that. He tried to backtrack, preserve some hope in the broken man sitting before him. "If she was wiped like Natasha expects, then she wouldn't remember anything. Maybe if we let her wake on her own, she'll be able to preserve some of her memory."

Bruce felt his pulse rising and forced it down. He was angry. He was very, very angry—but he couldn't let it get the best of him. He needed to force the Hulk down. He often felt like his mind was at war, constantly forcing the Hulk away while the other guy fought back. It was enough to drive him insane.

"No," he whispered, his gaze flying to the girl curled up on the bed. "It can't be."

"Bruce?"

Banner rushed to the back of the room, sifting through vials of medicine. It couldn't be. But if it is…

"Doctor Banner!" Steve's voice rose. "What is going on?"

He looked back over his shoulder. "She's at war with herself." He moved back to his work, studying the records of her brainwaves the past few days. He could see a pattern in them. Some days they were normal, others they were erratic. On the days there were normal, she would be repeating the same phrase over and over, begging for death. The two days they were not, both times happening over a course of several hours, she would be pulling against her restraints, screaming in her sleep, rage evident on her features.

Bruce believed that the exposure to the serum had somehow created a second version of Katie within herself, the side that was H.Y.D.R.A.'s weapon. Somehow, she had gotten control of it, but it was tearing her apart.

"At war?" Steve repeated. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"She's like me. There are two sides of her right now, fighting for possession. One is Katie, and the other is… something else. Anger. Rage. She's fighting it, you can see it—" He pointed to the girl, whose fingernails were digging into her skin. Her teeth ground together, her eyebrows furrowed. The mantra continued through clenched teeth. If he was right, if she was fighting against herself on top of being seriously injured… things didn't look good for her.

"Can you help her?" Steve asked, incredibly worried. This was his baby sister. He had sworn to protect her. He remembered everything, all they had gone through. His heart broke at the thought of all she had had to experience without him, and he swore that would never happen again.

"I can try."

:*:*:*:*:

I writhed around on the bed, fingernails digging into my skin, fighting to keep the Angel at bay. _'No, no no no, stay back. This is _my_ head. You are _not_ welcome here.'_

She pushed harder.

I searched for good memories, weeding through the bad ones. The problem was, I couldn't seem to find any good ones. I didn't remember anything but the bad memories. I knew there were some: there had to be. I couldn't just have bad ones. For something bad to happen, something good had to have happened first. I dug through them, searching for slivers of good within the bad. A name. A face. A word. From each bad memory, I pulled out its pure core.

James.

Steve.

Blue eyes.

Remembering.

Escape.

Howard.

Engagement ring.

Howard.

Steve.

James.

Eli.

Little puzzle pieces of memory began to fill in the gaps. The Angel fought back. I fought harder. I'm going to win.

My chest hurt. My breathing was light, and everything seemed to be spinning. I tried to focus on Steve, my brother. Steve, my protector. Steve. Steve.

"Steve—"

:*:*:*:*:

Steve and Bruce turned around as Katie gasped aloud, one word cutting through the mantra she had been repeating for days. "Steve."

He was by her side in an instant, gripping her wrists in his hands and pulling them away from her ears gently. "Katie, it's me." He was crying again. "It's Steve. It's your brother."

Bruce stood by, watching with sad eyes. He and Steve had been searching for days for something to help her, but hadn't found anything. He had realized what was wrong with her two days before, and Katie had spent every minute of that time whimpering and muttering, not sleeping at all.

Steve continued to speak to her softly, brushing her damp hair away from her face. He took in her starved appearance, the bruises that covered nearly every inch of skin. His fingertips brushed lightly over the bruises and burns on her face and the scars and cuts on her shoulders. "I promise, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. You're going to make it through this, Katie. You're strong. You're going to make it, and I'm going to take care of you. I promise."

He bowed his head, resting his forehead against their clasped hands.

Banner glanced over an hour later. There had been no change. Steve had finally succumbed to exhaustion, and Bruce decided to let him sleep. He went back to work, knowing as he did that nothing he did was going to work. He had spent years searching for this sort of cure; something to help him control the other guy. He hadn't found anything, because there was nothing to find. He knew that if there was anything to find—which there wasn't—it would be even harder with Katie's state, because hers was entirely in her head. Her physical form didn't change like his did. Her fight was entirely will based. Maybe if he knew what sparked it he could find a way to delete the memory or keep her from thinking about it, but until she woke up there was no way to find out, and asking her might be inviting the other side to take control. He didn't know what to do.

"Hey, big man. Any change?"

Banner didn't even bother looking up as Stark strode into the room, looking over at the Rogers siblings in the corner. He shook his head. "Not yet."

"There anything to find?" Tony asked, glancing over Katie's vitals. Her heart rate was faster than a normal human's, but he thought it just was because of her enhancement.

Bruce sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No. Nothing."

"When was the last time you slept?" Tony asked, snatching Bruce's coffee away as he reached for the mug.

Banner gave Stark an annoyed look but settled back against the counter, thinking back. "A couple days," he said finally. "Over forty-eight hours."

Tony nodded. "Alright. Go sleep."

"What?"

"You heard me." He pointed to the door. "Sleep. Now. Romanoff will kill you if you don't. I'll let you know if anything changes."

Bruce nodded tiredly and headed for the door. "Bruce," Tony called after him. He turned around. "Has Katie slept at all since she got here?"

He shook his head. "No. She just keeps saying it, over and over…"

Tony didn't have to ask what 'it' was. He'd heard it. They'd all heard it.

"Well she's asleep now," he said softly, glancing over at the siblings. Banner smiled for the first time in days and left the room.

Stark took over the research, glancing over at the girl on the hospital bed. He had been the one to find her, to carry her out. He, despite their strained meeting, felt somewhat responsible for her. He didn't want her to die, that was for sure. He had seen her eyes when she talked about her brother, her past. She had been telling the truth that day above the lake. She hadn't killed his parents. She had killed, yes. But so had he.

Her heart monitor picked up suddenly, and he jumped. He rushed over, checking over her systems. Her heart rate and blood pressure were spiking, and her heart fluttering, skipping beats. Sweat was beading on her brow, and her body was shaking. Her breath was coming in short, sudden gasps.

"No, no, no," Tony muttered, reaching over the test her breathing and pulse, in case the machine was shorting out. It wasn't.

Steve woke up and looked around, bleary eyed. "What's wrong?"

"She's going into cardiac arrest," Tony snapped, rushing to the doorway. "Banner, get back here!" he yelled. "Something's wrong!"

Within seconds, Banner had reentered the room with Clint on his tail. Tony wheeled out the defibrillator and handed the reigns over to Bruce as Katie's pulse flatlined. The echoing drone filled the room. Clint pulled Steve back, keeping him from getting in the way while Tony rolled Katie onto her back. Bruce placed the sticky, paddle-like attachments to her skin, one above her heart, one below it.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Charging," Bruce said tersely, watching the scan. "Five hundred—" He glanced at the girl one more time. "Clear."

Her body lurched, actually lifting off the bed. Barton was physically restraining Steve, keeping his own eyes locked on the girl.

"Clear."

Her body jerked again. Everyone in the room held their breath; staring at the girl they had tried so hard to save. The drone filled the room. No one spoke. No one even blinked.

"Clear."


	19. Chapter 19

My body jerked, and energy rushed to my heart. I felt my body lift off the bed as my heart started beating again, and I gasped, taking a deep breath of air. My chest ached, but not as badly, and my heart was beating again. It had been horrible, not feeling my heart beating within my chest. That had never happened to me before. I lay there and listened to my heart for what felt like hours, reveling in the feel of life pumping through my veins.

Finally, though, I felt myself begin to wake up. Really wake up. I felt a burst of fear. I didn't really remember anything, not completely. I remembered a few things. _My name is Katherine Rogers_. I knew who I was, which was a relief, and I remembered a few other people: my fiancé, James; my friend, Howard; my brother, Steve. I remembered my childhood, growing up in Brooklyn. I remembered James being drafted. I remembered Steve becoming Captain America and joining the army. I remembered finding James in the H.Y.D.R.A. base in Italy. After that, there was nothing else. No events, no faces, no nothing. Maybe there wasn't anything. All the same, I felt as though there was an enormous gap in my memory.

For the first time in days, I opened my eyes. Two men stood above me, watching me with wide eyes. I lay frozen, afraid to move. My mind sped up, searching through the fragmented memories I had left. Did I know them? I knew them. The one on the right, he saved me from… from someone? The one on the left…

"Howard?" I croaked, frowning. That couldn't be right, though, could it? He looked like Howard, but not enough to _be _him. Unless he grew up, unless he was older…

"Nah, I'm not Howard. That was my old man. I'm Tony, Tony Stark." He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Welcome back, kid."

I blinked. Welcome back? From where? What did he mean 'old man'? Howard was barely older than Steve, how—?

The other man seemed to sense my confusion, because he murmured something to the man that I couldn't hear, and the man—Tony—stepped back.

I sat up very slowly, watching the man carefully. I wasn't wearing a shirt, but my chest was bound in cloth. My back burned. Had I been injured in some way? Was I in the hospital?

"Katie," the man addressed me. I jumped a little. How did he know my name? I gave him a small, wary smile. "My name is Doctor Banner; I helped you several times before this. Now, I need to ask you something. Answer as best you can."

I nodded slowly, wincing at the pain that simple motion caused. "Alright," I said softly.

"The date right now is September seventh," he said. "What year is it?"

I blinked, confused by the simple question until I realized that I didn't know the answer. "It's… it's…" I frowned. Steve received the serum in '43, James proposed to me in '44, and then he… I felt suddenly as though I had been punched in the gut. My eyes widened and filled with tears. "No," I choked. "Oh, no, James—" I covered my mouth with one hand, shaking my head. No, no, no, he couldn't be gone. He couldn't be dead.

He touched my shoulder lightly. "Hey, it's okay, just answer me, what year is it?"

I searched harder. James… he had passed away—oh, god, no—in late '44. In May of 1945, Steve crashed the plane—my mind blanked, and I felt my heart skip a beat. "Steve," I breathed, my heart breaking. "No, Steve—" I buried my face into the pillow. It was September of 1945, then, less than six months after my brother's death. Why was I here? I was supposed to be out searching for H.Y.D.R.A.

"Hey, what's wrong? What year is it?" Doctor Banner asked. From the urgency in his voice, it might have been he who didn't know the answer.

"My brother—" I choked, ignoring the question. It wasn't important anyway. "H-he's gone—"

"Katie—Katie, listen to me. Tell me the year."

"1945," I choked out angrily. The room went dead silent. I lifted my head, staring into his shocked face, tears continuing to flow down my cheeks. "What is it?" I challenged, my voice thick. "What's wrong?"

Doctor Banner exchanged glances with Tony Stark. "Nothing… nothing's wrong," Tony murmured. "I'm sorry for you loss." He moved to the other side of the bed and started moving Doctor Banner away from the bed. Two other figures were behind them, standing in the shadow, but I couldn't make out their faces.

"Something _is_ wrong," I snapped, moving to move off the bed. I winced, doubling over and pressing a hand to my chest. Everything hurt. I gasped, forcing the pain down and replacing it with anger. "Tell me!"

"Hey, hey, whoa, you need to lie down," Doctor Banner said, returning to my side and placing a hand on my shoulder.

I shrugged his hand off angrily. "Not until you tell me what's wrong," I bit back, glaring at him. Who did he think he was? I was seething with anger, covering up the fear building up within me. The question 'fight or flight?' popped into my head, and for some reason, it made me sad. The sadness made me angrier. I wasn't some pathetic little girl anymore who couldn't save anyone. I was on a mission to take out the murderers who took my family from me, and no amount of sadness or fear was going to stop me. I dimly noticed that the other two figures had left the room.

"You were captured by H.Y.D.R.A."

I froze, not believing my ears. Tony walked back to my bedside. "H.Y.D.R.A. captured you."

"Tony," Banner barked angrily.

"—Experimented on you," Stark continued.

"Tony!"

"—Wiped you—"

"Tony, that's enough!" Banner looked furious.

I stared at him in shock and then stared down at my body for the first time. Faded bruises and scabbing cuts littered my arms. I took a deep breath and tried to force down the panic that swelled like a balloon within my chest. My entire right arm was covered by a burn scar that stretched over my skin from fingertips to shoulder like a glove. I covered my mouth with my less-injured hand and stared at the burn scar, appalled. I flexed my fingers, watching with transfixed horror as the scar stretched and smoothed according to my movements. I tore my gaze away and lowered it further. My legs were much the same, with thick, white scars and half-healed cuts covering my skin. There were two puckered scars on my shoulders, one on each: gunshot wounds. My waist had scars too, thin white ones stretching across my skin. I felt sick. I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

"What happened to me?" I whispered, looking brokenly up at the two men in front of me. My fingertips brushed over what felt like blisters on my forehead, and I froze. "Give me a mirror," I snapped, cursing the way my voice was rising in pitch.

"What?" Both men looked surprised.

"Now," I growled, urgency leaking into my voice. I moved my hands away from my face, afraid to touch it anymore.

Tony handed me one, ignoring Doctor Banner's attempts to prevent him from doing so. I glared at the Doctor for a moment before looking into the mirror. I stared at my reflection for maybe five seconds before the mirror slid from my suddenly numb fingers. Tony caught it right before it shattered, but I wasn't really paying attention. My hair was matted, my face bruised. Burn blisters covered my temples, and I had a split lip and black eye.

My eyes… they frightened me, because they were wild, and haunted, and scared. I saw the innermost core of who I was, how I felt, and it terrified me. "What happened to me?" I whispered again, touching my face with shaking fingers. My back burned with the motion, but I was too afraid to look and see what wounds were there as well. I looked at Tony. "If you are Howard's son…" My mind was working overtime. Howard wasn't even _married_. I knew he was seeing a girl named Maria, but they had no children… and Tony had to be at least in his thirties, maybe his forties… how long was I gone? Tony said I was wiped… what did that mean?

"What year is it?" I echoed Banner's question, my voice hollow. I needed to know. If H.Y.D.R.A. really had held me as prisoner for decades, they were going down. I was going to take them out. Rage burned within me, stronger than I had ever felt it, and a presence came with it, seething with malice. I shoved it away, suddenly afraid.

"That doesn't matter right now," Banner replied tersely. "What does matter is that you get some rest. Your heart _stopped_ a few minutes ago. You shouldn't be talking, let alone sitting up. Now go to sleep. We'll talk later."

"No, we'll talk now," I snapped, anger surging up again. "You don't get to tell me that I've been a prisoner for the organization that took _everything _away from me and then say it doesn't matter. Tell me what happened to me, _now._" My voice lifted almost to a shout, and the sheets were clenched in my fists.

"You want the truth?" Doctor Banner snapped, moving closer. I nodded. "The truth is that I don't know what happened to you. No one knows what happened to you _except _for you." He pointed at my chest. "Not me, not Tony, not anyone. No one knows where you were, what experiments were done to you, or who did them. No one knows exactly how long you were there. No one except you knows anything about any of what you went through. Now go to sleep."

He turned around and left the room. I stared after him in shock. The confidence I had previously held withered away.

"You're different," Tony said suddenly, examining his fingers idly. They were covered in what looked like machine oil.

I turned to face him. "What?"

"You're different," he repeated. He dropped his hands and looked down at me, a frown marring his handsome features. "Different than you were before. Angry. Impulsive. Rash."

"I have to be," I snapped. "I lost _everything_."

"Where were you?" he asked, ignoring my outburst. He waved his hand around as though he were creating a picture only he could see. "The last place you remember, where were you?"

I thought back, frowning. "I was tracking down H.Y.D.R.A."

"Why?"

"They killed my brother."

"Are you sure?"

I looked up suddenly, jerking my head up. Something in my neck popped, and I bit back a groan of pain. "What?"

"Are you sure you were tracking them down?"

Oh. The spark of hope that had flared up within me died. "Yes."

"Where?" he asked.

_'The woods,'_ I wanted to say. But no, that wasn't quite right.

'_Eli, NO!' _I shook my head, closing my eyes. _'H.Y.D.R.A. had given me a name while I was their prisoner, their soldier: the Angel of Death. They wanted me: they'd get me.' _

I opened my eyes. "What was that?" I whispered.

Tony didn't look confused, but he didn't look smug either. If anything, he looked thoughtful. "If I had to guess, I'd say you're getting your memory back." He stood up and started making his way towards the door. "Work on that, kid. Things will be a lot easier if you do."

"Wait!" He turned around. I fidgeted with the blanket, twisting it between my fingers. "Who… who's Eli?"

A sad look crossed his face, and he sighed. "A friend," he said finally.

I shook my head. If it had really been decades… and I looked the same, then how did I know who this person was? "Then how do I know him?" I whispered. I remembered tousled brown hair. Empty, blue eyes. Blood. So much blood.

Tony opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, but then he closed it. "Get some sleep, kid," he murmured, placing his hand on the doorframe. "We'll explain more tomorrow."

He left, and the door slid shut. I stared at the door in surprise. I had never seen one move so smoothly or quietly before. I glanced around at the softly glowing boxes all around the room. The one attached to me was beeping constantly. I watched it suspiciously for a few minutes, trying to figure out what it did, until I realized that it was taking my pulse. I detached the cuff from my arm—the machine began emitting a long, drawn out beep that made me want to throw the machine out the window—and slid off the bed, placing my feet on the ground.

The floor was cool and pleasant against my bare feet. I tried to stand, placing my weight on my legs, but they shook violently, unable to hold my weight. I could see why. I was dangerously thin; I could easy count my ribs through my skin.

One of the panels closest to me was glowing brightly, and I decided to see what it was, exactly. It looked like a window, almost, except that it was hanging from the ceiling. I slid out of bed to the ground and, scooting across the floor, made it to the glass. I managed to climb into the chair beside it, feeling very small, and touched the glass tentatively. The screen lit up, and different smaller panels appeared on what I now realized was a screen.

"This… is a computer?" I whispered, dumbfounded. I looked over the material on screen, eyes scanning for anything useful, and then froze on one very simple box. _America's Angel_, it said. Why exactly it was there, I didn't know. A little label above it said, "Recently Searched."

Not seeing a mouse, I touched the glass, and the little box moved to fill almost the entire screen, pushing the other boxes into the corner. Several files came up, organized by—my mouth went dry—by _decade_.

I swallowed, my heart beating faster, and touched the first one.

It started in the twenties and was short, only mentioning my family members and elementary school as well as birthdate. I skipped to the next one. The 1930s. It spoke of my time in grade school as well as my mother's death. The 1940's were harder to look at. They started with the beginning of the war, the bombing of Pearl Harbor—which also, incidentally, was my birthday—and ending with my disappearance and—my eyes went wide—_death_. I stared at the screen for a long time, trying to understand what I was seeing. My _death_? Why did they think I was dead? It had only been less than a year! The date they listed hadn't even passed yet!

Or had it? With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I remembered Doctor Banner's question. 'What year is it?'

I remembered Tony Stark, Howard's son. I remembered his words. _"Nah, I'm not Howard. That was my old man. I'm Tony, Tony Stark. Welcome back, kid."_

Now I thought I understood. He was welcoming me back from the dead. I glanced over at the other files, seeing a list up to the 1970s before the screen ran out of room. I moved to see how far it went, but before I could, the screen went dead. I looked up to see Tony and another man dressed all in black standing in the doorway.

"See, this is why I can't have nice things," Tony complained. He turned back to me. "Listen kid, you—"

I managed to rise, holding on to the counter for dear life, and glared at him. "I'm not a kid," I snapped, nodding towards the now dark screen. "From what that file said, I'm older than you are."

"How far into it did she get?" the other man murmured.

"I saw that it reached the seventies," I said. My voice began to shake.

I knew it went farther even than that, and that frightened me. It meant that I had been a prisoner for years. If the last thing I remembered was hunting for H.Y.D.R.A. in 1946 and now it was at least 1970… it had been twenty-four years. I should be in my forties by now. I frowned. But… but I looked the same. I knew these people couldn't be making this up; the technology was too advanced. But… a horrible realization struck me, and I backed up, pressing back against the edge of a desk.

"You're H.Y.D.R.A.," I whispered. It was the only thing that made sense.

Stark—if that was really who he was—looked shocked, but instantly on guard. "No, Katie. We're not H.Y.D.R.A. That doesn't even really exist anymore."

I wouldn't hear it. I was shaking, feeling for something—anything—to use as a weapon. "Prove it," I murmured.

He looked at his companion helplessly. "You got anything?" he asked.

The other man gave him an annoyed look and stepped forward into the room. My fingers closed around a scalpel, and I gripped it tightly with a trembling hand, keeping it hidden behind my back.

The man held up his empty hands, clearing his face of any negative emotions. "Hey," he said, his voice calm. He moved closer, and I moved back. "Do you remember me?"

"I don't know you," I whispered, shaking my head. I noticed that he didn't give me his name, and I couldn't help but wonder why. I clutched the little weapon tighter.

"Yeah you do, kid," he replied, a sad look on his face. He moved even closer.

"Stay away from me!" I burst out. My heart was beating against my chest like a bird trying to escape from a cage. I moved my hands around to my front, and I saw his gaze dart to the knife in my hand. He slowed down, but didn't stop moving. There was a window directly behind me. If I jumped...

I blinked. Why in the world did I think that jumping out of a window was a good idea? I didn't know how high up I was, for one, and I wanted to take out H.Y.D.R.A., not take myself out for them.

"Calm down," the man said, moving even closer. Then again, maybe jumping out of a window wasn't such a bad idea. If these men were the ones who had injured me this way, then maybe death was preferable.

"Stay back," I growled, moving back until the window was only a couple feet away.

"We're not going to hurt you," he said calmly. His arms still were outstretched to show he was weaponless, and I realized that I was trapped, unable to duck around him. I was stuck between him and the window, and he outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds.

I turned and dove for the window. I heard one of the men shout and then felt the man's hand wrap around my wrist, yanking me back before I'd even touched the glass. I lashed out with the knife, and he jumped back to avoid it, and then moved forward and grabbed both my wrists, squeezing them until I was forced to drop the scalpel. He kicked it away as soon as it hit the ground, keeping a firm grip on me.

"Enough," he barked, staring me in the eye.

I was shaking. I was afraid. I didn't stand a chance against these men, and they knew it. I blinked away tears and forced my fear down, calling back my anger. "Let me go," I growled, trying to pull away.

He gripped my wrists tighter and pulled me closer, shaking me a little. "Not if you plan on pulling a stunt like that again," he snapped. "You can't fly anymore, you can't just go around jumping out of windows…" he continued on in this same vein, but I saw Tony shaking his head behind his back, his head in his hand. What did he mean that I couldn't fly anymore?

"Barton," Stark said, speaking over the other man's rant.

"What?" he snapped.

"That's enough."

"No, it's not! She can't go around doing idiot stuff like that, it's going to get her killed!" The look he gave me reminded me of the one Steve would give me whenever I would try to rescue him from a fight. _'You know I love you,' he'd say afterwards. 'You know I'd do anything for you.' I'd nod. 'Then do something for me. Don't jump into a fight you can't win, Katie. I don't want you getting hurt on my account.'_

"Barton," Tony began.

Barton turned his blue eyes back on me, and a shaft of moonlight streaked across them. _The moonlight slanting through his hair made it glow white, and it revealed the fine lines in his face, making him appear his age for the slightest of moments. His eyes seemed to glow._

My lips parted, and without warning, I started to cry. "Eli?" I whispered. I blinked, and for a moment, the man before me was replaced by another with bright blue eyes and tousled brown hair, a kind smile on his face. An instant later, he was gone. Memories of my friend flooded back, and I felt a piece of the hard shell surrounding my heart begin to crack. I gasped for breath. It was as if the sun had risen on my mind. Some spots were still covered with shadow, hidden from view, but others were revealed, brought back to life. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—Clint, I didn't—" I started to sob, and the man pulled me into his arms. I sagged against him, clenching his shirt in my hands. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He held me close, one hand supporting my weight, the other rubbing my shoulders. "Hey, it's alright, kiddo," his voice cracked. "It… it wasn't your fault."


	20. Chapter 20

The details surrounding the memories of Eli were hazy. I remembered saving him, travelling with him, being saved by him. I remembered laughing and crying with him, remembered watching him die. I remembered Tony and Clint and Bruce, but no one else. Nothing else.

I pulled away, suddenly urgent. Tears continued to flow down my cheeks. "Clint, how did I get here? What happened to me? What year is it?"

"Easy," he said, beginning to steer me over to the bed. "Calm down."

"Please answer me," I begged, letting him half guide, half carry me back across the room.

"We brought you back," he said finally. "After H.Y.D.R.A. killed my brother, you went after them. They took you; tortured you, I guess. I don't really know what all they did to you."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "What year is it?" I whispered.

"I don't think I should say," he answered softly. "I think it'd be better to ease you into it. Chances are you'll remember on your own, but I don't want you getting overwhelmed."

I nodded mutely.

"Oh," I whispered. I understood, even if I didn't like it. If he told me about everything I'd forgotten, I'd go insane. I felt some of the shell fall off, revealing the person I really was, not just the person I had been directly after Steve's death. I had been very bitter, I recalled: bitter and angry and deadly. I had become someone that Steve would have been ashamed to call his sister.

I moved to jump onto the bed when we were still several feet away, planning to thrust out my wings and glide down onto the bed like I had always done. Clint realized what was about to happen a second before I did. He let out a yell and leapt forward, catching me around the waist before I could hit the floor. He lowered me to the ground, and there I stayed. I curled up, pulling my knees to my chest, too stunned to cry. Clint sat beside me, arms around my shoulders, and let me rest my head against his chest. His back rested against the edge of the bed.

"My wings," I whispered, staring blankly at the wall over Clint's shoulder. I felt completely empty. I really didn't have anything left. James was dead. Steve was dead. Eli was dead. My freedom was gone. "They're gone."

"What happened?" he asked softly. I tried to remember. I couldn't recall anything. I remembered Eli's death, but I didn't remember who shot him. I didn't remember how I had gotten to the H.Y.D.R.A. base. I didn't remember who had done this to me or why. Actually, I had a pretty good idea why: they wanted me as a weapon.

I shook my head. "I don't remember."

He nodded. "I'm sorry," he murmured. After that, he went silent. We stayed there on the floor, each resting in the other's company. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to feel.

I… I wanted to go home. I smiled a little, and a tear fell from my eye. Home. I remembered my home. I thought about my house in the woods by the lake, surrounded by mountains. The geese would be heading south soon, travelling in V-shaped formations above my head. The leaves would be changing, the forest alight with brilliant scarlet and gold. The sky would be growing paler, the days shorter, the nights clearer. Soon, it would begin to snow. Orion would disappear beyond the horizon, and the lake would turn to ice. The elk and snow foxes would be playing beneath the trees.

"I want to go home," I whispered softly.

"I know, kid," he murmured.

"Clint?"

He hummed in answer. I stayed silent for a few seconds, gathering the courage to speak. "Did… did Eli—" My throat hurt, and my eyes stung. "Did he feel anything? Did it hurt?"

I felt him shake his head, and he tightened his grip on me a little. "No. By the time I got there, he was already gone. The hit…" his voice broke, and he cleared his throat. "The hit killed him instantly. He didn't feel any pain."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair. _ Why did it have to be Eli who died? It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me.

"Don't say that," Clint whispered. I started. I hadn't realized I had spoken aloud. "I hate that he's gone more than anyone, but that doesn't mean it should have been you. We care about you, Katie."

I nodded, unable to say anything. I stared across the room, watching the moonlight move across the floor. Finally after what felt like hours, I fell asleep.

:*:*:*:*:

"I hate this."

"I know."

"Why can't I see her?"

Tony turned to stare at Steve incredulously. "Imagine this for a moment," he said, leaning back against the counter. It was almost three in the morning, and the two men had been up all night watching the monitor from Katie's room. They had seen her try to jump out the window—Jarvis had had to lock the door to keep Steve from running to the other room—and then fall, sobbing, into Clint's arms. They had seen Katie try and fly to her bed, seen Clint catch her. They had heard the two of them talking, and now they watched as the pair fell asleep on the floor. "Imagine that you watched best friend die," Stark began, clearly forgetting that Steve had, in fact, seen his best friend fall to his death. He didn't see the soldier wince as he spoke, and he continued. "Now imagine that you're sitting in your room, reading a book, and he walks in and starts talking to you. What would you do?"

Steve shrugged uncomfortably, the thought of his best friend making his heart ache. He should have been faster. He should have caught him. He had failed both Bucky and Katie. "I dunno."

"Yeah, you do. You'd panic. You'd freak out." Tony nodded towards the screen. "Your sister's gone through hell and back. Her mind is over sixty years in the past. The last thing she remembers doing—although she seems to have recovered a bit of her memory already—is searching for the group that killed you. She already thought that Barton and I were apart of that group—do you honestly think she'll react well to you just barging on in there?"

Steve slowly shook his head and watched the screen. His heart constricted painfully. He felt so guilty. He should have been there for her. He should have protected her. He wanted to punch something.

"I'm gonna go," he said quietly to Stark. The mechanic nodded, watching the screen intently. "I'll check on her tomorrow."

"Alright, Cap," Tony dismissively. "Jarvis?" he called a moment later. "You can open the door now."

"Yes, sir."

The door slid open, and Steve left the room, lost in his thoughts. Without really thinking about it, he headed straight down to the training room. He wrapped his hands, staring blankly at the bandages. Katie wore bandages like this on her back.

At the thought, Steve finished and began repeatedly hitting the punching bag. He wanted to talk to his sister. He hadn't really spoken to her for almost seventy years, and the few times he had, it was to try and capture her. The thought jarred him so badly that he missed the bag. The back of his hand scraped against it, and his shoulder rammed into it, causing him to lose his balance. For a moment, he felt as though he was about to fall, but he managed to catch hold of the bag and steady himself.

Instead of going back to work, however, he just stood there. _'Imagine that you watched your best friend die.' _He closed his eyes, and that terrible memory played before his eyes.

_"I had him on the ropes," Bucky panted, glancing over at me. His arm was wrapped around my sister, comforting her. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Not for herself, I knew. For me. For Bucky. I knew that the instant we got back to the base, Bucky and I would be getting a lecture from her about why we should never go on another mission again._

_ "I know you did," I replied, breathing heavily. Before another word could be said, __a high-pitched keening filled the room. I knew what that was. Without a second thought, I shoved Bucky and Katie back behind me and held up my shield. "Get down!" _

_ The soldier I thought I had knocked unconscious fired. The force of the blast sent me hurtling to the side, and I slammed into the side of the train before hitting the ground, dazed. I tried to raise myself up onto my hands and knees. My vision was blurry, and I shook my head. My shield—where's my shield?_

_ Bucky had it. He lifted it up and started firing at the soldier, keeping Katie behind him. The force of the last blast had blown out the side of the train. The soldier fired again, and the energy threw Bucky backwards into Katie, throwing them both out the side of the train. My heart stopped. I was instantly on my feet, and I hurled my shield at the soldier, knocking him out. I tore of my helmet and began climbing onto the torn up side of the train. _

_ "Bucky!" I yelled. "Katie!"_

_ The two of them were clinging to the side of the train. Bucky had grabbed ahold of my sister's waist and was holding her against the side, keeping her from falling. I started climbing towards them as Bucky started pushing Katie towards me._

_"__Hang on!" I barked desperately, moving closer. An abyss whirled past beneath me. I was terrified. If I dropped them—if either of them fell—_

_ "Get _her_!" Bucky yelled. He pushed Katie forward, and I grabbed her arm, yanking her towards me almost effortlessly. She was so light and I had so much adrenaline pumping through me that it was no problem at all. I moved so that she was between me and the wall, keeping her safe. I reached out towards Bucky, stretching my arm as far as I could and moving towards him, trying to keep my sister safe at the same time._

_ I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. "Grab my hand!" Out fingers were inches from touching._ _The handle supporting Bucky's weight snapped, and my heart stopped. "No!" I screamed, grasping at empty air._

_ "James!" Katie screamed, her voice tearing through me like a knife._

_ The rail detached from the side of the train, and Bucky fell, screaming, reaching for us. I dropped down on the wall, still reaching for him. His eyes were wide and panicked. He was screaming as he fell, still reaching for my hand. Then the train passed on, and he passed out of sight, and I bowed my head against the side of the train and wept._

Steve winced again, coming back to the present. He thought back to that horrible day, and not for the first time did he wish that Bucky was right there by him. He always knew what to say, and he would've known what to do with Katie. His heart ached for her. She had lost everything. Her fiancé, her brother, her friend, her wings…

He clenched his fists and went back to punching the bag as hard and fast as he could. If he ever found the bastards responsible for hurting her… he couldn't imagine the pain she must have gone through. He had seen the wounds on her back. It must have happened right after she disappeared, a little over a month ago. When they had found her, the wounds had been infected, and it had taken Bruce the last week to clean them and stitch them. Steve had a feeling that that was why she had been so weak and sick: because she was dying.

He had known men, friends, who had gotten amputations during the war. Those who had made it had never been the same. He prayed that Katie wouldn't lose herself like he had seen other people do. He wanted her to know that he was there for her, that he would always be there for her. But he couldn't. Not yet. It would hurt her too much. He stopped and rested his forehead against the rough fabric of the bag. He was tired. So tired. He just wanted to take his sister somewhere safe and stay there forever where no one could ever hurt her again. Deep down, he knew it wouldn't be possible. She was too broken, too far gone. She would never again be the same free spirited girl he had known. She… he sighed. She had been through more than he would ever know. What little he did know about her past made him want to weep.

:*:*:*:*:

I opened my eyes blearily. Sunlight was streaming in through the window. Clint was asleep next to me, his head resting back against the mattress. I moved to stand and whimpered in pain, immediately deciding against it. My back was on _fire. _ I didn't know what happened to me; what they did to remove my wings—the thought made my throat ache—but whatever they'd done, they'd done their job well. I couldn't move. I just sat there, staring at the floor. I didn't want to wake Clint up, but the pain was too great, and I had to.

I squeezed his forearm. "Clint?" I rasped. My throat hurt. "Clint—" my voice was a squeak.

His eyes popped open so quickly that I wondered if he had been asleep at all. He took one glance at me, took in the pained look on my face, then scooped me up and placed me on the bed on my stomach. "Stay here, don't move," he told me, already moving towards the door. "I'll be back soon."

I nodded and turned my head to continue looking at the wall. I tried to relax, to not focus on the pain, but nothing worked. The longer I lay there, the more antsy I grew. What if this was a trick? What if I was in some drug-induced dreamland and was really back at the H.Y.D.R.A. base?

Bruce walked into the room, and I tensed, whimpering as my shoulders moving, tearing at the stitches. "Easy," he murmured, placing a hand on the small of my back and another on my shoulder. "I need to dress these again, alright? And then we're going to get some food into you and get you some medicine."

I nodded and let him work.

"How bad is it?" I asked after a few minutes. The few glances I had seen of his face were worried and tense, and I couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong.

He waited a few moments before replying. "I'm going to be honest, Katie… it's not great." My stomach dropped. "But you're healing. You went through a lot, obviously, and your body is still trying to heal. I don't know what all happened to you, but I do know that the cuts on your back weren't properly taken care of."

"Did they get infected?" I asked.

He hummed in answer, and I nodded, my cheek rubbing against the sheet. "They did, but I've cleaned them well. I had to reopen the cuts, unfortunately," he sounded very regretful and apologetic. "And I'm sorry for that. I didn't think it was worth your life to leave them as they were and see what happened." I nodded in agreement. "But they should heal nicely."

"Where else was I hurt?" I asked softly.

He took a deep breath. "Physically?" he muttered. "Besides the loss of your wings, I don't know. The bruises on your skin suggest that you were beaten; however, there are no signs of broken bones. Your old cuts—" he touched my beck lightly, and I shivered at the cold. "The ones I stitched up—they were already healed enough that going weeks without treatment didn't infect them. I already checked."

"Anything else?" I asked bitterly as he pressed bandages down to cover the wounds.

He didn't answer but instead asked me to sit up and face the wall. He gave me instructions and then wrapped my chest back, passing the thick cotton bandage around to me to wrap my front without exposing myself.

He passed me a bottle of water, warning me against drinking all of it at once, and then sat down next to me and began treating the burns and scrapes on my face. "Katie," he said seriously as he worked. He paused for a minute and stared straight into my eyes. "You went through an incredibly traumatic event. My guess is that your mind is actually blocking out most of what you experienced down there. Natasha's is that you were… wiped. That your memories were erased."

"Who's Natasha?" I asked, frowning. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I was almost positive that I had never met anyone of that name before.

He blinked, looking dumbfounded, and then his brow furrowed and he dropped his gaze, dabbing at my split lip and muttering things under his breath that I couldn't hear. "Bruce?" I asked softly, touching his wrist. "What is it?"

"I don't know," he answered. He went back to work, rubbing freezing, soothing gel onto the burn blisters on my temple.

I tried for something else. "Then what are these?" I asked, reaching up and touching one of the blisters lightly.

He pushed my hand away and reapplied the gel. "Electric burns," he replied with a frown. "I don't know how you got them, but it's not hard to tell what they are." He blinked, and a look of realization crossed his face. "Of course," he murmured.

I frowned. "What?"

He had a sort of dazed look on his face, and I had a feeling that he had forgotten I was there. He seemed to have had some sort of breakthrough. "You went into cardiac arrest. It was because of the electric current that must have been passing through your system, it…" he struggled to find the words to explain. "The heart can only handle so much," he said, gesturing with his hands. "The electric current that passed through you must have been too much of a strain."

"And made it stop?" I guessed, picking at the sheet.

He nodded excitedly. "I just don't understand how—if Natasha is right—the electrical currents were used to erase your memory… perhaps if the electric signals in your brain were scrambled somehow, it would disrupt your long-term memory… although you're already recovering, so it must not have been effective…" he continued on, and I drifted off, my thoughts moving to rest on my brother. I missed him so much. I'd have given anything to have him here with me now.

_'It's your fault he's gone,' _a nasty little voice in my head whispered. _'You let him get on the plane alone. If you had gone with him, you could have stopped him from crashing the plane, talked some sense into him.'_

I blinked away angry tears. "Bruce?" I asked, my voice higher than I would have liked. He stopped short in the middle of his explanation about the different effects electricity might have on the different lobes of the brain and blinked. "Yes?"

"I'm really tired, and I'm hurting a lot right now. Is there anywhere I can sleep?" I glanced down at the bed, my gaze drawn to the rusty stains on the sheets from my back.

He glanced down at them as well and winced. "Yeah," he said, standing. He offered me his hand. "We've been working on a room for you, for when you woke up." I accepted it and let him help me out of bed and, to my dismay, into a wheelchair. "You can barely walk," he said softly in response to the reproachful look I gave him. "I can't carry you all the way."

I let him wheel me out of the room, taking in the sights of the building as I was steered down the hall. Technology had really progressed since my day. The lights were brighter, for one, and all the doors slid open quickly and silently. Bruce pulled me into an elevator, and we rode in silence.

"They used to have music," I murmured, resting my chin in my hands. Bruce chuckled softly but said nothing. The doors opened without a sound, and we rolled down another hallway. This one seemed outdated for this time period, but newer than mine by a tad. It… it was like home. Not my home in Canada; my home in Brooklyn. He opened a door. It was a real door, made of dark wood, not like the other sliding ones.

"Here we are," he announced, waving his arm. "What'd you think?"

I stared with wide eyes, feeling them brim with tears. I couldn't speak. The floor was made of dark hardwoods, and a light brown rug was spread out in the center of the room. The bed was a bit darker than the floor and magnificently carved. It was huge. Steve and I could never have afforded such a thing back home. I stood on shaking legs and made my way over to it, feeling the covers. The white sheets were sheer, unlike the ones I used to have, but I preferred them this way—they were less restricting. The rest of the bedding was white as well, contrasting well with the floor and bedframe, and a dark blanket was folded at the foot of the bed. A dresser was placed right beside the bed, a futon at the foot.

"I'm going to head down and get you something to eat," Bruce told me. He pointed towards a door on the other side of the room. "The bathroom is through there. You can rinse off if you'd like; the dressings are water resistant, so won't be ruined if you get wet so long as you aren't in a bath. Just… try not to let them soak." I nodded, and he copied my movement. "Alright then. I'll be right back."

He left, and I opened a drawer of the dresser. There were several pairs of jeans folded neatly in the first, and several shirts and sweaters in two more drawers as well. One drawer was entirely filled with socks, and another with underwear. I blushed furiously and closed the door, wondering who had bought them. There were, to my immense relief, several pairs of nightclothes in the final drawer. I picked the least restrictive pair and went to the bathroom to shower. A towel was already on the counter, a new bar of soap lying atop it. The bathroom was not as I remembered it, but I liked it better. A glass stall sat in the corner, a large tub opposite it. A toilet sat beside the door, which locked, and a counter, sink, and mirror resided opposite that.

I stripped and spent several stressful minutes figuring out the shower before managing to turn it on and keep the water from either scalding or freezing me. Right before I stepped in, however, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and froze. A gaunt, defeated face stared back at me. I tore my gaze away and stepped into the shower, reveling in the feel of the warm water driving away the dirt and blood that stained me. I scrubbed my skin so thoroughly that when I finished, I was bright pink except for my scars and bruises. I washed my hair as well, trying to brush through it.

Every time my fingers caught on a snarl, my breath would catch in my throat. Some hidden memory was making its way to the surface, and it scared me. It reminded me of dark cells, hard fists, cold metal... I shuddered and I decided to leave my hair alone for now. I finally climbed out and dried off, pulling on the pajamas as gently as I could before I wrapped my hair in a towel and left the bathroom. I leaned against the door, scanning the rest of the bedroom.

There was a dark wardrobe next to me that had a mirror on one of its doors. Beside the bed was a small, dark table with a lamp perched on its surface. Beside the light was a place with crackers and applesauce as well as a glass of water and several medicine caplets.

The entire left wall had windows stretching across it with white curtains handing at the edges. Light was allowed in right now, but they could be pulled shut to cast the room in shadow. The walls were white as well, making the room seem freer and larger than it actually was, something that I was grateful for. There weren't any paintings on the wall, but a few picture frames sat upon the dresser. I spent a few minutes staring at the pictures, smiling softly. One was of Steve and I when we were younger, before I passed him in height and he became Captain America. Another frame, which was three separate frames attached to one another, held pictures of Peggy Carter, Doctor Erskine, and Howards Stark. The third picture was of Eli. I covered my mouth with my hand, choking back a sob. He was smiling. Clint had his arm around him. Eli looked the same, but Clint looked twenty years younger. I suppose he was; Eli hadn't aged in that long. The two boys looked carefree and happy, grinning at the camera.

The final picture was one I recognized. It was of James and Steve and I. Steve and James both had thrown their arms around my shoulders, but James was holding my hand. The look he gave me… even now, it took my breath away. He loved me… and I lost him. I sniffed and wiped away the tears on my face. Crying wouldn't bring him back. He wouldn't want me to cry. He'd want me to move on, to live my life without him. I let go of the breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I just didn't know if I could do that.

I turned away from my pictures and looked across the room. Against the opposite wall sat a comfortable looking chair and above it was a bookcase stocked full of books.

I was standing before it, a grin stretched across my face, before I had realized I had moved. I scanned the titles feverishly, and when I found the one I was looking for, I smiled and pulled it from the shelf. I didn't know what called me to this particular book, but I felt as though it was a friend calling out to me. I crawled onto the bed, practically sinking into the covers, and after eating the food and medicine provided, began to read silently, my lips moving along with the words. _"When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton…"_

I fell asleep on top of the covers, my head at the foot of the bed, the book clutched close to my chest. Somewhere within me, my heart started to heal. Not a lot, but enough that for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt like I was safe. I felt like I was home.


	21. Chapter 21

_Burning, searing pain. The soldier grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked me forward, sending me to my knees. I screamed, trying to free myself, but he twisted his hand tighter. Hair began to tear out at the roots. The pain was indescribable. He was dragging me down the hallway. Every breath I took burned. My lip was bleeding, and my eye was swelling shut. My back throbbed. I couldn't escape. He threw me into the chair and then grabbed my hair again, forcing my back against the metal, forcing me into the machine._

I woke up screaming. It was dark, but the city outside my windows shone, a million lights gleaming in the darkness. There was no moon tonight; a storm was coming. The clouds were heavy and dark, their undersides reflecting the orange light of the city. I curled into a ball, shaking. Sweat trickled down my forehead and into my mouth and eyes. I stared blankly ahead of me, trying to calm my heart. Long strands of hair fell into my face. I moved to brush them back, and my hand caught in a knot, tugging painfully against my scalp.

I shot out of the bed, panic singing in my veins. I hit the ground hard and fell to my knees, but scrambled to my feet and staggered to the bathroom. I turned the lights on and began digging through the drawers. There was toilet paper, toothpaste, a toothbrush... nothing that I needed right then. There was nothing that could help me, nothing that could relieve me of the pain, of the fear.

I left the bathroom and stumbled across my room and to the door. I left it open and began my trek down the hall, clinging to the wall for support. Somehow I made it to the elevator and made it inside, sagging against the wall. Soft light gleamed inside the elevator. I pressed a random button and was several floors away from my room before I realized that I didn't know what floor my room was on. The doors slid open. I stepped out into the hall and looked around. This hall was unfamiliar. I started walking, my bare feet making no noise on the floor. The stone chilled my feet and sent shivers up my spine.

I emerged into a large common room. The lights were all out, but the glow from the city provided enough illumination for me to distinguish the shadows from the furniture. Was this the kitchen?

I crept into the center of the room, listening for any noise. Besides me, there didn't seem to be anyone else awake. _I wonder if there are only four people living in the tower?_

On one side of the room was a line of cabinets with granite countertops. I made my way to them as quickly as I could, keeping to the shadows, and began rifling through them, going more by touch than by sight.

"Ouch!" I retracted my hand and stuck my finger in my mouth, glaring into the dark drawer. Knives. I moved on but left the drawer open, ready to go back to it if I didn't find what I was looking for. I found a light switched and turned it on. A line of bulbs above the countertop blinked to life, but the rest of the room remained dark. Finally I found what I was looking for. Right as I pulled them from the drawer, footsteps echoed through the room.

Panicking, I switched the lights off and threw myself behind the nearest piece of furniture: a large leather couch. I pressed my free hand to my mouth and clutched the scissors close to my chest, my fist clenching the blades tightly. The footsteps stopped, and the lights flickered on. I let out a breath, somewhat defeated, but didn't stand. I was afraid. I felt as though I was running for my life.

I'd do what I always did when they came after me—stretch out my wings, knock them away, and then take off— I shrank back against the couch. I couldn't. Not anymore. I was defenseless.

"Katie?"

I jumped, scrabbling backwards on all fours, my mind blanking. Tony Stark stood there in flannel pajama pants, staring at me as though I were an alien. I scrambled to my feet, feeling heat rise to my face. "Mr. Stark."

"Tony," he corrected automatically. He gave me a questioning glance. "Do you want to tell my why exactly you're sneaking around my tower at two in the morning?"

I bit my lip and looked away, moving my hands behind my back. He sighed dramatically. "Fine," he groaned, waving his hand back in the general direction of the hallway. "Just go back to your room, it's on floor forty-six."

I gave him a questioning look and nodded slowly, starting to walk back towards the hall.

"Put them down," he said from behind me. I froze and turned to stare at him. He was wide awake by now, his eyes bright and alert. His arms were crossed over his bare chest, and I couldn't help but notice the large, jagged scar in the center of it, over his heart. He pointed to the scissors in my hand. "Down."

I narrowed my eyes and pulled them closer to me, moving slowly towards the entryway. "Why?"

He put his arms down, looking exasperated. "Because you are an emotionally unstable victim of mental, physical, and psychological torture who shouldn't be out of _bed _right now, much less gallivanting around my tower. Especially," he added, "with a potential weapon." He held out his hand. "Hand 'em over." I did so reluctantly, and he put them back in their drawer, locking it by murmuring something at it.

I could've sworn I heard a little voice say, "Yes sir," in response, but I couldn't be sure.

He clasped his hands together and nodded towards the door. "Go on, go back to bed. You need anything? I can call Banner…"

I shook my head, glancing back at the drawer. "No, I'm fine." I turned and padded back to the hall but stopped at the doorway. I turned, resting my hand against the frame. "Mr. Stark?"

"Tony," he corrected loudly.

"Why are you up so late?" I asked curiously.

He glanced up, dark eyes gleaming, and held up a glass of water. "Water for the Missus," he said.

I blinked. "You're married?" I asked, surprised. My gaze dropped to his left hand, but he wasn't wearing a ring.

"Uh… no." He seemed rather uncomfortable with the look I was giving him.

I was utterly confused. Why would he be living with a woman he was not married to? "Do you love her?" I blurted the fist thought that came to my mind.

He looked astonished that I would be asking such a thing. I backtracked quickly, my cheeks growing hot. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, you're fine…" he cleared his throat and looked around the room. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I love her."

The corner of my lip lifted in a smile. "What's her name?"

"Pepper," he said, a grin growing on his own face. "Pepper Potts."

I smiled at him softly. "I would like to meet her someday."

He glanced up at me, a shy smile on his face. I had never seen him look that way before. I blinked. I _had_ known him before, hadn't I? I would have had to, to know how his expressions worked. "She'd like that," he agreed. "Just not right now; she's probably fallen back to sleep."

I nodded and turned away. "Of course. Goodnight, Tony."

I could hear the smile in his voice as I walked away. "Night."

I reached the elevator without incident and sighed. I _needed _those scissors. The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, pressing the button for the 46th floor. I leaned against the wall, exhausted despite having slept for so long. My body wasn't used to moving around this much. I reached up to brush my hair away from my face, and my fingers became caught in a knot again. I pulled at the strand of hair without thinking and almost screamed as a flash of memory hit me, bringing along with it a sharp pain and paralyzing fear. I yanked my hand away, suddenly covered in cold sweat. Forget the rules. Forget being caught. As soon as the doors opened on my floor, I made them shut again and sent the elevator down towards where I knew Banner's lab to be. I kept my hands glued to my sides and stared straight ahead, trying not to shake.

The doors opened and I bolted out, almost slamming into the opposite wall. I leaned against it, taking deep breaths, and looked around. This wasn't the right floor. I began walking down the hall, placing one foot silently in front of the other. I rounded the corner and ran into someone much larger than myself. I stumbled back, wide-eyed. Tony stood there, a cup of water in one hand. He raised his eyebrows.

"I know I just told you what floor your room is on, and it's not the thirty-fifth floor," he said. He wasn't as light sounding as before. "What are you really doing up?" he said.

At that moment, my back throbbed, and I winced. "My back hurts," I blurted.

Any trace of anger disappeared. "Right," he murmured. He held up a finger. "Wait right here."

He went down the hall and disappeared into a room on the right hand side. I rubbed my burned wrist with my undamaged hand, trying not to look at it. A minute later Tony reemerged, this time wearing a shirt. He held a notepad and a pen in one hand, and he beckoned me forward with the other, stepping into the elevator. I followed.

"Alright, so Banner's lab is on the thirty-second floor," Tony said, scribbling something down in the notebook. He frowned down at it. "Actually, let's do this in order." He tore out the page, crumpled it up, and, after realizing there was nowhere to throw it away, put it in his pocket. "Note to self," he muttered, writing something on his palm. "Install trash disposal in elevator." He switched to the notepad. "Alright. First floor, ground level, not important," he rattled off, making some notes. "Training rooms are on the fifteenth through twenty-fifth floors, depending on what you like using. Some are for shooting, some boxing, one's a track, one's a pool, and so on."

A pool? Indoors? I nodded my head, listening intently.

"Thirty-first floor is the infirmary, thirty-second is Banner's lab. Those two are connected, since he's the doctor 'round here." He wrote something else down. "Thirty-third is Banner's hall where he lives when he's in New York. Thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth are mine and Pepper's wing," he added casually.

I got the hint. Don't go down there.

"Fortieth is Barton's, the forty-sixth is yours, and fifty third is the kitchen, as you saw. Sixtieth and sixty-first floors are connected and are the living room-type-place. Top ten floors are research and development, not a part of Banner's stuff. Other floors are for other people or weapons or my stuff. Floors I haven't listed are probably dangerous or unfinished, so don't go there until I add them to the list. Oh! And bathrooms are located on most floors."

Tony handed me the paper, which I hesitantly took. He had left spaces between some of the numbers, some as many as fifty blank lines, like between the "living room-type-place," as he put it, and the research and development floors. The doors opened, and Tony escorted me out. The lights were out in here too, but Tony turned them on quickly, washing the enormous room in white lights.

"How tall is the building?" I asked, staring around me in wonder.

"Eleven hundred and thirty-eight feet," he rattled off instantly, going round from counter to counter and peering at different medicines. "Say, do you know what medicine Banner was giving you?"

"That's almost as tall as the Empire State Building," I murmured. I blinked. "Oh—no, I'm sorry, I don't."

He frowned and crossed his arms, looking around. "Ah. That one must be it."

A clear bottle filled with small blue capsules sat on the counter, a note with my name on it resting beside it. Tony read it quickly, muttering under his breath. He unscrewed the cap, grabbed a couple of the pills, and handed them to me. "Take those with water," he said. "They'll knock you out, so don't taken 'em till you're in bed." I nodded and let him steer me out of the room. The lights switched off as we crossed the threshold.

The elevator opened, and he stepped in with me. He pressed the thirty-fifth button and the forty-sixth button and the doors closed.

"Jarvis?" he called.

I looked up, glancing around the elevator. Who was he talk—

"Yes, sir?"

I jumped almost a foot into the air, my back hitting the wall. "What? Who was—"

Tony glanced apologetically at me. "Sorry, I forgot you weren't used to this. This is Just A Rather Very Intelligent System, he helps run the house."

"Just a…" I mumbled the words under my breath. "J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"Hello, Miss."

I blinked. "Uh… hi."

"Yeah, hey, buddy? Once Katie's dropped off, can you power off the elevator? We don't need a repeat of what happened when the tower was being built."

"What happened?" I asked curiously, trying to ignore the formal, "Of course, Sir," in the background.

"Sweaty workmen," he deadpanned. "All inside my private elevator."  
The doors opened onto the thirty-fifth floor, and I realized something my exhausted mind hadn't noticed until now.

"Here's my stop," he said, stepping out.

"Um, Tony?" I asked. "Are there any stairs? Or are the elevators the only way to go anywhere in the tower." I was thinking more of possible escape plans than anything, since I couldn't just jump out the window anymore—had I really done that?—but Tony seemed to think I was going to try and rob him or something.

"Uh," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe. Night."

The doors closed, and I huffed angrily, moving to run a hand through my hair. My fingers caught again, and I almost screamed. I glanced down at the paper in my hand. Kitchen was the fifty-fifth floor. I pressed the button for that floor, but it didn't light up. The elevator was moving up towards my floor, but I knew it would stop there and I would be stuck there for the night.

"Jarvis?" I called timidly.

After a moment, the voice replied. "Yes, Miss?"

I was too curious not to ask my question first. "What are you?"

"Just A Rather Very Intelligent System," it replied smoothly.

"Like a computer?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I have another question," I said to it, looking around to find a speaker or a mouth or something. Nothing. The voice seemed to come from the floor. "Can you take me to the fifty-first floor?"

"No, Miss."

I was losing my temper. Somewhere within me I realized that I was arguing with a computer, but I didn't really care. "Why not?"

"Because Mr. Stark gave me specific orders to drop you off and then power off the elevator."

"You can drop me off on the fifty-first floor," I muttered. It didn't respond. Instead, the doors slid open onto my floor. I refused to step out. "If you can't drop me off, you can't—"

The elevator powered down. I stepped out, and the doors slid shut. I eyed it irritably and glanced down the hall towards my room. The door was still open, light from the bathroom spilling into the hallway. At the other end, however, I thought I saw another door. Stairs, maybe? I moved towards it and then stopped as my back throbbed again.

I tried to weigh the choices I had. I needed to get those scissors, or at least a knife. I had no idea where I was going or if there were stairs in this bloody towers anyway. I was exhausted and hurt, and should be asleep. I moved towards my room and closed the door once I was inside. Tomorrow. I would fix it tomorrow.

I took the pills, rinsing them down with water, and almost immediately felt drowsy. I managed to climb under my covers, carefully avoiding touching or pulling on my hair at all. I maneuvered onto my less-injured side and stared at the pictures by my bed. I stared at the one of James and Steve and I and smiled sadly.

I had only been four when I had met him, but he had taken me under his wing. He and Steve had been friends since they were thirteen. I had always looked up to him, even before I had feelings for him. I thought back to the day we met, my eyes drooping shut.

_"Why don't you fight back, huh?" a boy taunted, pushing Steve. We were at the playground near our house, playing, when a few boys who were much bigger than me came over and started pushing my brother around._

_ "Stevie!" I was only four, but I was severely protective of my brother. I ran over and tried to push the boy away, but he pushed me down into the dirt. I started to cry._

_ "You need a little girl to fight for you, Rogers?" another boy taunted, leering at me._

_ Steve's eyes widened and then narrowed in anger. His hands balled into fists. "Don't touch my sister," he growled, putting himself in front of me. _

_ The boys laughed, and he tried to punch one of them. The smiles dropped off their faces, and the biggest boy grabbed Steve's arm, pinning it behind his back. Another boy hit my brother in the face. I started screaming at the sight of my brother's blood. I scrambled to my feet and ran over to the boy, hitting his arm._

_ "Stop it!"_

_ One of the boys grabbed my arm and pulled me away. I was screaming and crying, kicking at the boy. I managed to kick him in the shin and he yelled, yanking on my braid and then pushing me to the ground._

_ "Hey!"_

_ A tall boy with brown hair and blue eyes rushed out of nowhere, tackling the boy to the ground. He punched the boy in the mouth, and then jumped off. The boy he had hit ran away. The new boy hit the boy holding Steve in the nose, and it started bleeding. The boys scattered._

_ The new boy came over and knelt down beside me. I sniffed and stared up at him. He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. I sniffed and wiped at my eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked. His lip was bleeding._

_ My eyes widened. I reached up very hesitantly and pressed the corner of my sleeve against it, wiping away the blood. He stood very still, his eyes wide, as if trying not to frighten away a deer. "Thank you," I whispered._

_ He nodded. "Are you okay?" he repeated. _

_ "Yes." I looked past him. "Steve!"_

_ I darted forward and practically tackled my brother, crying. _

_ He hugged me, and then looked over at the stranger, who was standing there with his hands in his pockets, his hat on crooked. "Thanks," my brother said._

_ The other boy shook his head. "Don't mention it." He knelt down in front of me. "You're really brave, you know that?"_

_ I blushed, hiding a bit behind my brother._

_ "I'm Steve," my brother said, smiling and offering the other boy his hand. _

_ The boy stood and smiled and took it. "I'm Bucky."_

_ "What's your real name?" I asked, looking up at him. He was a lot taller than I was. He was a lot taller than _Steve _was._

_ 'Bucky' chuckled. "That is my real name."_

_ "No, no, I mean your long name. Like__—like__ Steve's real name is Steven, and my__—__my real name is Katherine, and—"_

_ He held up his hands, a smile tugging at his lips. "Alright, I got it." He hand out his hand to me. "I'm James."_

_ I smiled back. "I'm Katie."_


	22. Chapter 22

The next time I woke up, it was to the sound of thunder. An explosion rattled my windows, and I rolled out of bed in a panic, tangled in the sheets. I didn't know where I was; I was still half asleep and expecting for my room to be on fire—surely only a bomb could make such a sound. As soon as I calmed down enough to recognize the storm clouds outside and the lack of fire in my room, I stopped struggling against my blankets and was able to disentangle myself from the covers. I sat on the floor, looking around. I had been awake—no, _conscious_—for less than forty-eight hours, I guessed. Assuming, of course, that I hadn't just had a two-day-long nap. There wasn't a clock in my room, I noticed, so there was no way for me to tell how long I had been sleeping.

I touched my hair gingerly, reminded of why I had been walking around the night before. I stared into the mirror. My hair was tangled and matted and, despite being clean—

I had washed it yesterday—made me feel incredibly dirty. I could still feel the pain of being dragged by it, feel that soldier's fingernails digging into my scalp, feel the individual hairs being torn out by the roots. It was a few seconds before I realized I was crying.

That's it. I went into the bathroom and washed my face, scrubbing away the sleep from my eyes. I brushed my teeth as well, using the items I had discovered the night before. I realized with a grimace that I didn't remember the last time I had brushed my teeth. A month, maybe? I shuddered and brushed them again to be safe. As soon as I reentered the bedroom, I took off the pajamas I was wearing and kicked them into the corner of the room where they would be less noticeable. The clothes in the drawers fit me, thankfully, and I managed to pull on a pair of jeans with little trouble. Thankfully there were no major injuries to my legs. My back was more difficult, but I managed to worm a light grey, baggy t-shirt over my head without rubbing my back the wrong way. It fell to mid-thigh, acting more as a tunic than a shirt. It had a red star in the center of it. I winced, frowning down at the design, but dismissed the odd feeling it gave me.

Out of habit, I straightened my bed, not really thinking about what I was going as I pulled and straightened the covers and many, _many _pillows_._ There had to be at least six pillows on my bed, four of which had somehow ended up on the floor. Were they for decoration? It wasn't as if I was going to use them. I wasn't sure I was going to sleep in the bed anyway—it was too comfortable; it felt like a giant marshmallow. Maybe I could make a pallet on the floor with the pillows instead.

I left the room a few minutes later, clutching Tony's notebook, and headed down the hall, glancing outside at the windows as rain lashed against them and lightning burned its way across the sky. Thunder continued to shake the tower. I bypassed the elevator, not wanting to be caught inside it should the power go out, as it was prone to do. At least… it was prone to do so in my time.

The door at the end of the hall did, to my relief, lead to stairs. I consulted the map Tony had made me and headed up to the fifty-first floor, where the scissors had been the night before. Lord willing they were still there. I had to stop at the top of each flight and rest, sagging against the railing. I cursed my non-existent muscles; I knew I should have been in better shape than this. After nearly twenty minutes I made it to the top. Thankfully, little floor numbers were painted on the wall beside each door.

I pushed the door open slowly, peeking around the edge. The hallway was empty, the floor silent. I entered the hall and shut the door behind me softly. Still no one. I crept down the hall, watching for movement and listening for sound, but there was nothing to hear. No one was on the floor.

I entered the room and made a beeline for the counters as soon as I knew that no one was in the room. I found the drawer with no issue, but it was locked, and no amount of tugging would loosen it. I checked the other drawers, the ones I had missed. Nothing.

I was about to give up when my finger throbbed and I remembered the knives I had found the night before. I sped over to the drawer and pulled it open, then chose the sharpest one and wrapped it in one of the towels that was folded impeccably on the counter, a sign I took to mean that there were, in fact, other women in the tower.

I slid the cocooned blade into my waistband and covered it with the shirt, closing the drawer. As soon as it was done, I slipped to the sink and began filling up a cup of water, needing an excuse to being in here. Not a moment too soon.

"Katie?" I turned around to see Clint standing in the doorway. He was sweating as though he had just run a few miles, and most of his shirt was dark with sweat. He was panting slightly. "What're you doing out of bed?"

I topped off the glass and held it up. "I was thirsty," I told him softly, watching him closely.

He nodded, glancing at my exposed skin, checking over my injuries. "You feeling okay?"

I nodded as well and took a sip of water, trying to slow my rapid heartbeat. "Yes. My back doesn't really hurt right now; Bruce's medicine is helping a lot with that."

"That's good," he said absently, glancing around. "Why don't you head back?" he suggested. "Keep on resting. I'll come by in a bit to see if you need anything."

I nodded, relieved at having been given an excuse to leave. "Alright."

As I passed him, he ruffled my hair, not noticing that I winced as he tugged on some of the knotted strands there. "You get some rest, kiddo."

I pulled away and slipped out of the room and into the elevator. It wasn't until the doors shut that I realized that I was still clutching the notebook in my other hand. I was shaking, trembling all over. I could feel myself begin to sweat.

The doors slid open onto my empty floor, and I headed straight to my room, locking the door behind me. My heart was hammering in my chest. I threw the notebook onto my bed and headed straight to the bathroom, locking the door as well.

I stood before the mirror, watching my reflection as I took off the shirt and tossed it into the corner. I removed the knife and unwrapped it with shaking hands. The polished metal reflected my image in the blade. I looked back at the mirror at my hair. Despite having washed it the day before, it was dirty and limp and tangled. I suppose going a couple months without doing anything but being tortured will do that. I held up the blade and took hold of a fistful of my hair.

I took a deep breath and started sawing through it, making sure not to cut my face or ears by accident. I was in a frenzy, trying to get rid of as much of it as I could. Chunks of knotted, dirty, blonde curls fell to the floor around me. I was crying, biting my lip as I worked. I had to do it. I had to be rid of it. I only stopped once my hair only reached a little past my jaw line. I was sobbing. I relinquished my vice-like grip on the handle, and the blade clattered into the sink. I leaned against the counter, gripping it so tightly that my knuckles turned white as I wept, tears dripping down my cheeks and off my chin.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced, and its reappearance make me cry harder.

_ "We have to cut it," Eli finally said, glancing at my hair._

_ I grabbed at my curls, pulling them out of his reach and growling low in my throat. "Not a chance," I barked angrily._

_ "Katie—" he tried._

_ "I'm wearing makeup, now can we go now?"_

_ Eli sighed but agreed, handing me a beanie and fake glasses to cover my hair and face. I snatched them away, still grumbling, and followed him down to the car._

I lifted my face to stare into the mirror. My eyes were red and puffy, my cheeks splotchy for crying. A watery remorseful smile appeared on my face. "You were right," I croaked, another wave of grief crashing over me. "I should've listened to you."

Once I had calmed down a little, I picked up the chunky knots of hair on the ground and threw them away, placing them almost reverently in the trashcan beneath the sink. I couldn't remember the last time I had cut my hair. It just… never came up. I couldn't remember every having cut it as short as it was now. Even before my memory cut off, the shortest it could ever be was a little past my shoulders. But I couldn't go around with the reminder of my torture hanging off me every day. At least I could get rid of my hair—I couldn't get rid of the scars that littered my body.

I threw the jeans in the corner with my shirt and stepped into the shower, washing any excess hair off me and massaging shampoo and conditioner through what remained of it. I turned off the water and went back to the sink, picking up the knife again and evening out the ends as best I could. I ran my fingers through my hair, now able to comb through it without difficulty. I was about to put the knife down when someone started banging on my door, making me jump a foot in the air and slip on the wet floor. I landed, hard, and the sharp edge of the knife, which had landed on the floor with the edge facing up, cut deep into my wrist. I bit back a scream and shoved the blade across the floor and under the cabinets, then scrambled to my feet and into a robe, wrapping my hair in a towel and covering my arm. The door opened right as I wrenched the robe shut.

Tony and Clint looked terrified, then angry, then mortified, in a space of about two seconds. Before the second had even passed, they had seized the door and slammed it shut, disappearing into my room. A similar sound a moment later revealed that they had exited my room. I stood, shaking. My hip hurt from where I landed on it, and it was already bruising, but it wasn't going to kill me. I turned the water off and dried off, still glaring at the door. They hadn't broken the lock, somehow; I had a feeling that Jarvis was present even with what didn't appear to be electronic. I opened the door and peered around it into my room.

No one was there.

I dressed hurriedly, pulling the robe off and examining my arm worriedly as I pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Blood was dripping down my skin and from my fingertips. I pulled on a black sweater to cover the blood and washed my hand off before rewrapping my hair. With any luck, I could get down to Banner's lab without anyone seeing me. I left the room. No one was in the hall. Since the infirmary was on the thirty-first floor—fifteen floors below me—I knew I would have to take the elevator. I stepped inside and pressed the button to the right floor. I went and sat against the wall, waiting for the doors to open. My arm throbbed with pain, and I held it close to my chest. I hadn't meant for the knife to slip—it was Barton and Tony's fault, if anyone's—but it had, and it would look _really _bad if they found me like this. Sneaking around in the middle of the night looking for scissors? Sneaking back out of my room and stealing a knife? Having a long, bleeding cut on my arm?

My ears were ringing, and the sounds around me were somewhat distant.

The doors opened, and I climbed to my feet. I stumbled and nearly fell, blinking hard in an attempt to feel less dizzy. I looked over my shoulder as I stepped out the door and promptly ran into someone, nearly falling over. I looked up, startled, not really sure what was happening, and met the angry—and still embarrassed—blue eyes of Clint Barton.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, his anger barely controlled. I stood frozen, swaying a bit, my arm cradled against my chest. His eyes dropped to my arm, and a look I wasn't familiar with flooded his eyes. He grabbed my arm and pulled it towards him, pushing my sleeve up to reveal the straight, deep cut. I was acutely aware of how it looked, and also of how much blood I was loosing. My head felt light, and my knees threatened to give way. He looked from my arm to my face and then scooped me into his arms, carrying me towards the infirmary.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he muttered, kicking open the door and placing me on a table. He pressed a button on the wall. "Banner, we need you down here _now_!"

"I needed to get rid of it," I murmured, my vision swimming. "It hurt too much."

I realized later how that would have sounded, but at the time, it made perfect sense. My hair was weighing me down with the agony of remembrance. I needed to get rid of it. It hurt too much to keep. In my muddled state, however, my thoughts were mistranslated, and it sounded as though I had just tried to kill myself.

Clint squeezed my arm, putting pressure on the injury to keep me from bleeding out. "You _never _do this again, understand?" he barked.

"But I didn…" My eyelids drooped shut, and my head lolled back.

:*:*:*:*:

"Steve, stay here!" Banner disappeared, practically sprinting for the door. Nat stayed with Steve, watching them go with a concerned look on her face.

"What's going on?" He asked, frowning after his two teammates. Jus a few seconds ago, Barton's panicked voice had come on over the intercom, demanding that Banner come down to the infirmary. But why?

The reason struck him a millisecond later, and he was on his feet in a flash, running for the door. Natasha was in front of him a moment later, working to halt his progress.

"Hey, whoa, stop!" she said, blocking his path.

"That's my sister," he panted, suddenly sure of it. "Get out of my way."

The doors to the room shut of their own accord, and Steve heard the distinct sound of a deadbolt sliding into place. Blood roared in his ears as he managed to get around Natasha and pound against the doors.

"Steve—Steve there's no way to get them open, not till Tony tells Jarvis to open them up!" Natasha tried reasoning with him, but he wouldn't hear it.

He slammed his fist against the door one more time before sagging against it and splaying out his hand against the cool metal. He wanted to shout, to scream, to break something—

"Steve?" Natasha said quietly, placing her hand on his arm. "She's gonna be okay."

He shook his head. "Why is she even down there?" he asked softly, more to himself than to her. "She was healing, so why…?"

He thought back to what had happened only a few minutes ago, when Clint had come in and mentioned to Tony how Katie had been getting water in the kitchen. Steve hadn't found that strange at all—she had often woken him up as a child getting water at two in the morning, and it was the middle of the day now, so it wasn't strange at all; and she had never liked staying in bed even when she was seriously injured—but Stark had gone white. He had rushed over to a monitor and checked the tape from the room—Steve hadn't gotten a chance to see them himself—and then he and Barton and disappeared from the room.

"What do you think happened?" he asked Natasha, trying to distract himself from thinking about all the horrible scenarios running through his head.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she fell unconscious? Clint said she was walking around earlier."

He shook his head. "No, that can't be right. Do you know what Stark saw on the monitors? Maybe she did something that freaked them out."

Nat shook her head but walked over to the screen anyway, pulling up the footage from earlier in the day. Her eyes scanned the screen, and her jaw dropped. She rewound it. "Um, Steve?" she called, sounding nervous. "You might want to see this."

He walked over and watching with a sinking feeling as the footage played. He saw his sister sneaking around, trying to get into a locked drawer, and then go open another drawer. He saw her pull a knife from within it—at this point his heart had practically leapt into his throat—and wrap it in a towel before placing it in the waistband of her jeans and fooling Barton into thinking she was getting water.

Steve was as white as a sheet. "Why was she…" he couldn't finish. He couldn't think straight. If his sister was trying to… no. He couldn't bear to finish the thought. Instead, he started slamming his fist into the doors as hard as he could, trying to force them apart.

"Stark!" he bellowed. Nat wasn't even stopping him. She was watching with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. "Open these doors! Stark! Don't do this! Stark!" His voice broke, and for a moment he saw a flash of memory: Bucky falling from the train, screaming. He saw Stark carrying Katie's unconscious form out of the H.Y.D.R.A. caves. "Katie," he whispered, clenching his fists and pressing them against the doors. "Please. Don't do this."


	23. Chapter 23

My eyes jerked open some time later, and my first thought was that I'd been sleeping a _ton _lately. My second thought was why on _earth _was I lying—_restrained_, I might add—on a bed in what looked like some high tech hospital.

I immediately began testing my restraints. It was only my arms that were strapped down, apparently. My left arm ached and itched. I turned my head, noting dimly that my hair was still wrapped in a towel, to look down at it. I wasn't wearing a sweater anymore, and my bandages had been changed. I wondered if Pepper Potts had helped—at least for the sake of the men. If any of them had done that, I'd strangle them, restrained or not. My left forearm was bandaged from my wrist to about six inches down; more specifically where the knife had cut me when I had slipped.

I frowned down at it. I understood why I had fallen unconscious—the blade must had hit an important artery or vein; I knew the symptoms of bleeding out, having felt them more times than I was able to remember, especially at the moment. But what I didn't understand was why I was being restrained. A sudden, horrible thought struck me at the same moment that a flash of memory hit me. When I had been a weapon for H.Y.D.R.A., I had killed without knowing it. What if I had hurt someone? What if I had _killed_ someone?

I started sweating, squirming against my restraints. I couldn't think of any other reason I would have been tied up. I was on the verge of an all out panic attack when Bruce walked into the room, reading something off a clipboard.

"Bruce?" My voice came out as a squeak.

He looked up in surprise, and a look of concern crossed his face. He moved to sit beside my bed, pulling up a stool. "Hey," he said, placing the clipboard on the covers. "How are you feeling?"

My throat ached. Who had I hurt? Clint? Tony? I glanced over Bruce's arms and face, searching for any bruises or cuts. My next words came out as a whisper. "Who did I hurt?"

He frowned and leaned forward. "What?"

It was nearly impossible to speak past the lump in my throat. Tears burned at my eyes, and not for the first time did I think that it would have been better for Eli and I to have traded places so that I had died and he had lived. "Who did I hurt?" I asked again. A tear fell from my left eye and traced its way down my cheek and into the towel.

Bruce looked completely confused. He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "Wait, I'm confused. What are you—?"

"I hurt someone!" I wailed. "I know I did! Did I—" I choked. "Did I kill anyone?"

By now Bruce looked as though someone had hit him over the head with a frying pan. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Hold on," he said calmly. "No one is dead."

I cut in before he could finish. My heart was breaking. So someone was hurt, then. What had I done? They should have killed me when they had a chance. Who knew what I was capable of? "Who did I hurt, then?" I was crying now. Not sobbing, but crying silently, hot, fat tears streaking down my face and into my ears.

"No one is hurt," he said, leaning forward. "No one but you, that is."

"W-what?" I choked. I was so confused.

Bruce shook his head again, confusion and concern swimming in his dark eyes. "You nearly died, Katie. If I hadn't gotten here in time, you would have bled out. Why would you think that you had hurt someone?"

I stopped crying, now as confused as Bruce had looked. "B-because my arms are restrained," I said. Wasn't it obvious? Why else would I be tied down? And if no one else had been hurt, why _was_ I tied down?

Bruce shook his head. "Katie…" he took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for something horrible. "You tried to kill yourself," he told me softly.

The idea was so absurd that any previous thoughts about death and regret flew out the window. I leaned forward against the restraints, letting them dig into my skin. _"What?"_

"Tony showed us the footage," he said uncomfortably. "From the night before and the day of. You were sneaking around trying to find something sharp; scissors, apparently. Tony sent you to your room, but you snuck back out. You left _again _and took a _knife _out of the kitchen the next day, then Clint finds you down here with a slit wrist and you—"

I was shaking my head, feeling somewhat restricted by the towel wrapped around my hair. "No. No, no _no._"

I was angry, angrier than I had been in a while. I had only ever tried to kill myself once, and it was during the sixties after I had awoken from being on ice. I had tried to commit suicide, to end my life before I ended anyone else's, but I had failed. One of the other soldiers, a man with a metal arm, had stopped me, and I had been wiped before I could try again. I had forgotten about it until now. It had been a long time since then, and I had no reason to die. I fixed Banner with such a deadly glare that he actually moved back a bit.

"Let me up," I demanded, shifting against the restraints.

"I can't do that," he started, holding up his hands again.

Blood roared in my ears. I'd had it with people telling me what to do. I'd had it with being a lab rat. My temper blew. "I said, _let me up!_" I screamed. I yanked on the restraint of my right arm, jerking my arm upward with all my strength. I hadn't really expected anything to happen, so you can imagine my surprise when the restraint ripped free. I stared at it for a moment, stunned, and then unstrapped my other wrist, fuming. Bruce looked on uneasily, looking stunned that I had been able to free myself.

I stood, moving so that we stood face to face. I reached up and unraveled the towel, letting it drop to the ground at my feet. My short blonde curls fell around my face, and I pointed to them angrily. "_This _is why I had the knife," I shouted, feeling my emotions surging within me like a tidal wave. "I was having nightmares. I kept…" my voice cracked. "I kept _remembering… _remembering_ them_ dragging me through the halls by my hair, I saw…" I sank back onto the edge of the bed, my knees shaking too badly to support me. "They forced me into a machine, he grabbed my hair to force my head back and keep me from moving, he…" I buried my face in my hands as sobs began to burst from my throat. "I had to get rid of it. I couldn't keep it. It hurt—"

I curled back onto the bed, weeping. I was trembling violently, hiccupping sobs escaping from my lips. After a moment, Bruce wrapped his arms around me, and I leaned into him, bawling into his shirt.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't know."

Once I had calmed down enough to move around on my own, Bruce sent me straight up to my room. I didn't need to be under surveillance anymore, so he had decided it was alright for me to be by myself. He actually assigned me homework as well; apparently the books in my room weren't all for pleasure reading. They started in the mid 40s and went to the 60s. He thought it would help me to learn about America's history, at least until I remembered enough of it for me to stop.

Sundown found me on a pallet on the floor surrounded by books. I had pulled the excess four pillows from the bed and formed a pallet in the corner. I had pulled the blanket as well, and was quite comfortable in my little nest. My hair kept falling into my face.

I rubbed the bandage around my wrist irritably. It hurt a lot—apparently I had lost a lot of blood and had been out of action for almost two days—_two days!_—and wouldn't be allowed to start rebuilding my muscle until I had gotten some blood back. I had lost so much blood over the years that I was surprised there was anything left in me to keep me enhanced. I leaned back against the wall, combing my fingers through my now wonderfully short hair. How had I ripped free of that restraint? It should have been impossible, and yet, here I was. I hadn't received any enhancement since my escape in the… I blinked. I had almost remembered something important. I thought harder, but the date had escaped me. I rubbed my engagement ring as I always did when I was nervous, but it felt odd.

I looked down, and my breath hitched in my throat. It wasn't my engagement ring after all. It was the purity ring Steve had given me. I felt the blood drain from my face. Where was it?! I scrambled to my feet and began tearing apart the room, hunting feverishly for the ring. I felt sick. Why hadn't I noticed its absence until now?

Thirty minutes passed, and still I found nothing. I sat back against the bed and pulled my knees to my chest, choking back tears. That ring was the only thing I had left of James besides my memories of him, and now it was gone. I forced myself to take deep, slow breaths and tried to think back. I gave my rings to Howard Stark before H.Y.D.R.A. captured me, I was sure of that. I also knew I had gotten them back after my escape in the 90's.

I blinked. The 90s?

I guess it was after the 90s, then. I sighed and sagged against the wall, kicking the 60s history book at my feet across the room. I guess that was useless, then. I thought harder, trying to figure out how long it had been since my original escape. I drew a blank. How long had it been since I got my rings from Howard? A fuzzy picture of a dark-skinned man swam to view, but I didn't know what to make of it at all.

I let out a frustrated groan and ran my fingers through my short hair. As glad as I was that it was short enough to manage, and not give me nightmares, I also missed having it long. My fingers untangled from it only about at my jawline, as opposed to my middle back. I preferred it short, though, and it wasn't as if I could make it grow back at the drop of a hat.

I stood slowly, blinking away the dark spots in my vision, and crossed to my bed, still rubbing my finger despondently. I knew I had received the ring back from Stark, but I didn't have it now. Something must have happened between then and now. Did I lose it? Impossible. It had to have been taken from me.

I glanced at _The Fellowship of the Ring_, which sat on the corner of the bed, one of its pages dog-eared. What irony: that I would be searching for a precious ring while these characters were trying to destroy it. I picked up the book and crossed back to my nest before curling up and delving into it once more, all the while rubbing at my itching finger.

:*:*:*:*:

"When do we tell her?"

Bruce shook his head, combing his fingers through his short hair. He and the team had had this discussion innumerable times, and yet he knew that it wouldn't be resolved anytime soon. "We can't tell her until her memory catches up to where it should be," he said clearly, taking a deep breath. He hated stressful situations, and this was the pinnacle of them all.

"And what if it doesn't?" Steve snapped, leaning forward. His forearms rested upon his knees, and his hands were clasped in front of him. His knuckles were white from strain. A vein was bulging in his forehead. Steve had calmed down the tiniest bit since finding out that his sister was both alive and, hopefully, not suicidal. The entire team was a bit fuzzy on that one. None but Banner had heard her explanation, first of all, and then there was her suspicious behavior… they had found the knife and hair in her room, so at least one of her intentions was clear, but several of the men questioned whether or not she actually had attempted to take her own life. Steve tried his best not to think about it; the idea of his baby sister being so depressed and lost so as to try to end her life… he couldn't bear the thought.

"How about we wait a month?" Tony suggested, glancing up from his i-pad. His gaze shifted over the furious Captain to the relatively calm Doctor, and he felt a bit of concern for the scene before him. The two men's roles should be reversed. "If she hasn't remembered by then, introduce her to her brother."

"A month?" Steve's voice nearly caused dust to rain down from the ceiling. A flock of pigeons that had, until this point, been perching contentedly on the roof flew away in a panic. "I can't wait a month!"

"She waited longer than that for you," Natasha reminded him gently, glancing up from her notes. She was trying to go through Katie's old files. Unfortunately, most of her oldest files were hard copy, handwritten notes, so she had no choice but to read through them herself looking for any actions that would have pointed to suicidal thoughts or tendencies. Natasha didn't really need this; she knew of the effects of torture, having experienced them herself. She knew—or figured—that Katie had probably been an assassin, as she had. Even if Katie didn't consciously remember what all she had gone through—Banner thought her mind might be purposefully blocking out the worse memories in an attempt to prevent insanity—she might be subconsciously remembering her actions.

"I didn't have a choice," he snapped, finally looking up from his hands. His blue eyes were burning with anger and desperation. He longed to see his sister, to make sure she was alright, to make her remember him—despair washed over him when he realized that this is how she had felt before he remembered her. "I didn't remember her!"

"And she doesn't remember you," Clint chimed in, twirling a drumstick around his fingers. He stopped, expertly catching it between his pointer and middle finger. "At least, she doesn't remember that you're alive. Give her a little while. You didn't believe her when she said she was your sister."

"Technically she never did," he pointed out bitterly.

"Not her fault," several voice called at once. Steve glowered at his teammates.

Thor, who up until this point had remained silent, finally spoke up. "Does she remember me?" he asked. The other five looked up in surprise. Even Steve stopped his glowering for a moment in his surprise at the question.

Bruce blinked and rubbed his aching neck. "Uh, I don't think so, no."

"Might I go and see her?" he asked. "I spared her life once. Perhaps seeing me will return some of her memory."

Bruce was silent, pondering the Asgardian's words. Clint spoke up. "She remembered my brother and I when she saw me," he called, beginning to twirl the sticks again. "It's worth a shot. Wasn't she talking to Steve when Thor hit her with the lightning bolt?"

Thor shifted uncomfortably. "That was an accident."

"Sure," Tony muttered.

"Why not?" Banner agreed, cutting through the bickering as he spread his hands. He nodded at Thor. "Go ahead, go talk to her. Just make sure to knock first, let her open the door."

"The door's locked," Tony reminded them all. Until they figured out the full story behind Katie's near-death experience, they had elected to keep her door locked, at least until they found a way to keep all the sharp objects under lock and key.

"Then unlock it," at least one member responded testily. It was too early in the morning to deal with something of this magnitude, and everyone's tempers were being driven through the roof. Everyone was ready for Katie to regain her memory, if only so that Steve would regain his normal calm, kind attitude.

"Hey, Jarvis?" Tony called, giving his teammates a dirty look. "Can you unlock Katie's door, please?"

Everyone waited for the response. "It's already unlocked, Sir."

Tony blinked, and Natasha and Clint exchanged worried glances. "What do you mean it's unlocked?" Tony asked, shocked. He had made sure to lock it himself.

"She left her room nearly an hour ago, Sir," Jarvis responded curtly.

Tony leapt to his feet and threw a blanket over Steve. "Barton, Banner, Thor, come with me. Nat, keep Steve in here, don't let her see him or she'll freak."

The four men darted towards the doorway, leaving the assassin to handle the super soldier, whose emotions were shifting between anger and anxiety.

:*:*:*:*:

At one point during the reading, the strangest thing began to happen. I began to predict the ending of each page, then each chapter, and then each book. By the end of the first section of the book, I knew the ending of the Trilogy. I checked it, too. Perfect match. My memory was coming back. Unfortunately, I didn't remember what had happened to _my _ring, even though I did know what happened to the ring of power.

I left my room—it was surprisingly easy to pick a lock, almost as if I'd done it before—and headed towards Banner's lab. If my memory was returning, the last thing I needed was to be alone. As I stepped into the elevator, I began reviewing what I remembered. It was September 11, but I couldn't recall the year. One popped into my head, and I frowned. Was it 2001? That sounded… right? Something was familiar about it, but a feeling of dread surrounded it was well. I stepped out the doors on Banner's floor and immediately crossed to the computer.

Perhaps it had a database of sorts on it. I typed in the date in a small box labeled 'search' and waited for the results to come up. Barely a second had passed that countless articles and pictures appeared on screen. The one at the top of the screen was labeled, "9/11 Attacks." I blinked at it, stunned. Attacks? I clicked on one of the pictures. No, not a picture; a video. I watched in horrified silence as two towers, which I recognized but couldn't recall actually seeing, were demolished.

An explosion detonated in one of them. No, not a bomb, I realized. A plane. A plane flew into the side. My hand covered my mouth, and I felt I might be sick. Surely this was an accident, right? That's what the news reporters were saying. My eyes were glued to the screen. My gaze was drawn to a small, dark speck in the corned of the screen. A moment later it disappeared behind the two towers, and before a second had passed before another, much larger explosion tore through the second building. A scream escaped my lips, and I leapt to my feet. Where was this? Somehow, I knew it was New York, which was where I was. Was this happening right now? I couldn't break my gaze away from the screen. Minutes passed. I didn't move a muscle. People were screaming, running. Paper fluttered through the air like snow. Other, heavier objects fell from the holes—debris? No. I thought I would throw up. People. People were throwing themselves from the building. I backed away from the screen, shaking. As I watched, the buildings collapsed, turning to dust in a matter of seconds. Dust and smoke choked the sky and flooded the streets. Finally I wrenched my gaze away and bolted to the window. The sky was clear. I ran out into the hall, peering through every window I passed. There was no sign of smoke or dust of any kind. I ran around the perimeter of the floor, gazing out of each window I came to, but I saw nothing. How was there nothing there. I stopped in front of another window, panting, and as I turned, someone caught my shoulders. Clint stood in front of me, looking worried and angry, but before he could say anything, I burst into tears.

"Katie? What's wrong?" He sounded confused and concerned.

I shook my head, unable to stop myself from sobbing. All those people, dead in _seconds_. Clint hugged me, letting me cry into his chest, not bothering to speak until I had calmed down enough to catch my breath. When I had, he pulled back and looked me in the eye. "Katie, what happened?" He glanced down at my arms.

I was too upset to call him on it. "The t-towers, the planes, the people, they _jumped_—"

He shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"The World Trade center, it…" I choked, shaking my head. "All those people—"

His eyes widened, and he looked down at his watch. "What year is it?" he asked. That seemed to be the popular question around here.

"Two thousand and one," I answered shakily.

He shook his head, pity in his gaze. "No, it's not. It's been a few years since the Twin Towers got hit. Why did you think it was today? How did you even know about that?"

"That year just came to mind, I started remembering stuff but I couldn't find Bruce and so I looked up the date, and…" I shuddered. It didn't matter that it had happened a few years before. It still happened. And for me, it might as well have happened a few moments ago. I was still shaking. It was something more than just the sight of it, though. I could feel dust filling my lungs, smoke burning my eyes. I could hear the screams and explosions as if they were happening right beside me. And a man. A man in black was standing amongst the rubble.

Clint sighed, pulling me from my thoughts. "You had us worried," he said softly, steering me towards the door. "Jarvis said you weren't in your room. How'd you get out?"

I shrugged, glancing away. "The door was unlocked."

"Uh huh."

"Clint?" I stopped, remembering one of the reasons I had started freaking out about the date in the first place. "Do you know where I've been since the nineties?"

He shrugged as he stepped into the elevator. "I'm not sure. I know you had a home, I'm just not sure where it was. S.H.I.E.L.D. might, though. I heard that Nick Fury caught up with you a few decades back, maybe he'd know."

I froze on the threshold of the elevator, the old gunshot wound in my shoulder giving a painful throb. "Nick Fury," I whispered. "S.H.I.E.L.D." I looked up at him, anger exploding within me. I remembered now. He took it. He had it. My ring. "Get ahold of him."

He shook his head, looking taken aback by my behavior. "Woah, hold on. That's not a good idea."

"He took my ring!" my voice had risen nearly to a scream.

"And I'm sorry!" he shouted back. "But I'm not gonna let you bet killed because of a piece of jewelry!"

"You don't understand! It's my engagement ring. It's the only thing I have left of James." My voice was a whisper now. I was torn. I was tired, I was weak, and I wasn't thinking straight. I was confused and conflicted and angry. "If the only thing left of Eli was taken away," I asked him softly. "Wouldn't you go get it?"

He shook his head, pain evident in his gaze. "No. Not at the expense of my life."

I turned away, staying silent the whole of the elevator ride. When we reached my floor, I stormed out and went straight to my room, slamming the door behind me. I leaned against it, my forehead resting against the wood, my fingernails pressed against the grain. I wanted out. I didn't want to be here anymore. I shouldn't be here anymore.

I turned around, ready to collapse onto my pallet, and froze at the sight of the man who was standing in the center of the room.


	24. Chapter 24

I stared in shock at the large man in front of me. My fingers grazed the doorknob as I moved back to stand against it before going back to observing him. He looked to be around James and Steve's age, had they still been alive—I swallowed, my heart aching at the thought. He had golden blonde hair that was longer than mine, and he had bright, piercing blue eyes. He was undeniably attractive, I'd give him that, and he was in incredible shape—his muscles were visible through the fabric of his jacket and jeans. He stood almost a foot taller than me, and he was easily twice as wide as I was. I suddenly felt very small.

He stood still, watching me with a slightly wary expression on his face. He wasn't afraid, though, I noticed. "Hello," he said, offering me a small smile. His voice was deep, like thunder. He moved so that his hands rested in the pockets of his jeans, and for a moment, I had a flash of the same man dressed in armor, flying through the air.

I blinked, my eyebrows furrowing, and the image vanished. "Hello," I echoed softly, my fingertips dropping off the door handle. I had nothing to fear from him. I crossed my arms over my chest, cradling my injured one close to me. "Who are you?"

A look of disappointment crossed his face, and he mirrored my actions, crossing his arms as well. "Do you really not remember?"

I shrugged, a sad smile tugging on the corner of my mouth. "Don't take it personally," I apologized softly. "I haven't been able to remember very much lately."

"I have heard of what ails you," he replied, glancing around my messy room and then at me. "But your memory is returning, is it not?"

I thought about the Twin Tower attacks, which had shaken me much more than they should have. I wondered at the flashes of memory that were mine that I associated with them. I wondered who the man in black was and why I had been in New York at the time anyway. I blinked, remembering that someone else was in the room with me, and shrugged. "I don't know. I guess? I mean, I get bits and pieces, but nothing really substantial." I sighed and sank down so that my back rested against the door. "It's like trying to fill in a puzzle with only a corner and a middle piece. It's never gonna happen."

"But it is a start," the Asgardian replied softly. I blinked. Asgardian? What was that?

I voiced my thought aloud, and the man smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. "Asgard is my world," he told me, beaming at the thought. I blinked once more, my head swimming. How world? So… not Earth?

"Your… your world?" I repeated, my voice a squeak.

He nodded, suddenly wary once more. "Aye."

I swallowed, trying to force my shock away. I had seen stranger, I tried to reason with myself. "So…" I swallowed and rubbed the back of my neck. "What brings you to Earth?"

"My friends," he said simply. "The Earth is under my protection, and so I came back to aid them in their hunt for H.Y.D.R.A."

_H.Y.D.R.A._

"And… are there more like you?" I tried. My voice had started going back to normal, but I still was struggling with the thought that the man before me was an _alien_.

"Aye," he said with a kind smile. "Many more. Midgard is only one of nine realms."

_Nine realms?!_

I nodded blankly. "Oh." My voice sounded small even to my own ears.

The smile dropped from the man's lips, and he moved to kneel before me. "I am sorry to have overwhelmed you, I was unaware that you knew not of the connections between our worlds."

I shook my head, still trying to process everything. "S'okay."

"I am afraid we have never officially met," he said, holding out his hand. I took it, and blushed in spite of myself as he brought it to his mouth, his lips grazing my knuckles. "I am Thor, god of Thunder, Prince of Asgard."

I offered him a shy smile. "And I am…" I thought for a moment. "Katherine Rogers. But please, call me Katie." I was sick of titles. _America's Angel. The Angel of Death._ _I was done. _I gave a sudden jolt. _The Angel of Death? Was that me? _ I was so shaken that I almost missed Thor's words.

"I am pleased to have finally met you," he replied, not noticing my unease. "Katherine Rogers." He paused for a moment and released my hand, moving to sit on the ground. "Might I ask you a question?"

I nodded, only half paying attention.

He settled in, crossing his arms in front of his knees and lacing his fingers together. "Where is your family?" he asked. "Why are you here alone?"

His words, so innocently spoken, tore through my heart like icy shards. I swallowed thickly and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't have one," I whispered, not trusting myself to speak aloud. "I'm alone."

Thor was silent. I could feel his heavy gaze resting on me, and after a few minutes of silence, he spoke. "I had a family, once," he said softly. I glanced up at him. His face was lined, making him look decades older than he had a moment before. "My mother and brother passed away but a year ago. Now only my father is left."

I nodded, my heart aching for him. "I know how you feel," I said softly. "I lost my father when I was very young. I don't… I don't even remember him. My mom died when I was thirteen, and Steve…" my eyes filled with tears. "Steve took care of me after that. He was my best friend. He died when I was eighteen."

"Were you ever married?" the Asgardian asked, glancing down at my hand.

I looked down as well, staring at the purity ring on my left hand. A bitter smile twisted my lips as I forced back tears, willing myself not to cry. "No. I was engaged, though. My fiancé, James, he…" I swallowed. "He died a week after he proposed to me." I took a shuddering breath, my body trembling. "My brother died a few months later."

Sympathy graced his features. He reached out and took my scarred right hand, holding it gently in his unblemished one. "I am sorry, Katherine Rogers," he told me softly. "Someone so young should not have to experience something so horrible."

I nodded and squeezed his hand. "And it's been decades," I whispered. "I just hadn't realized it. I forgot, somehow, and for a while I thought everything was alright, and then I remembered that they were gone, and…" I took a deep breath and shrugged. "I wish I could fly away," I whispered. "Only in the last couple days has my memory really started coming back, and only recently have I been able to process the fact that I'll never be able to fly again. I can remember flying," I told him, closing my eyes. I thought about the lake beside my home, how it would reflect the sky so perfectly, and I thought about the mountains and the trees, how I would soar above them, free as the wind. I could never do that again. I would never be free again. "I wish I could do it one last time."

"I am sorry," he said again. "I remember seeing you flying; seeing your wings. They were magnificent."

I opened my eyes and looked at him questioningly. "Have we met before?" I asked him, suddenly unsure.

He tilted his head. "No officially, no," he replied slowly. "We crossed paths but were never formally introduced until now."

I frowned, struggling to remember a conversation. I was dripped wet and freezing, my shoulder and wing burning with pain. _"Will you make sure he's safe?" I asked frantically, struggling against Eli as he tried to pull me towards the woods to safety. _

_ Thor nodded and pressed a closed fist to his breast. "You have my word."_

"You have my word," I whispered, clenching my eyes shut. My forehead throbbed with pain, and I pressed my palms to my temples.

"Katherine, are you alright?" Thor asked, concerned.

I shook my head, trying to wave him off. The pain was building behind my eyes. I was missing something. Something important. "Please, go," I whispered.

"Katherine, I—"

I placed the feeling. Fear reared up within me, almost overshadowing the rage that was rising to the surface. I couldn't explain it; I didn't have a reason to be angry, but I was. The Angel was coming.

"GO!" I screamed, lurching forward and pressing my forehead to the ground.

Thor placed his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, where my wings used to be. "Katherine, whatever evil you are fighting against, fight harder. I have seen you. You are good. You will not be overcome by this."

"Please, just go!" I pleaded with him, trying to make him understand. I couldn't control her. She'd kill him. "I don't want to hurt you—argh!" I screamed, collapsing onto my side and curling into the fetal position, clutching my head.

Thor knelt down before me, not heeding my warning. "Katherine, please, you—"

With one last roar of defiance, Katie slipped away. The Angel took control. I stood, glaring at the man before me, rage burning through me. He looked wary, nervous. Good.

"You," I hissed, my eyes narrowing. Memories of being strapped down to a table flooded through my mind. I remembered shoving someone out of the way of a lightning bolt, a lightning bolt the man before me had produced. "You kept me prisoner here."

"Katherine, listen to me," he tried.

I yelled, cutting him off. "No, you listen to me. I am leaving, and I am going to find H.Y.D.R.A. and kill every last one of them." I smiled, and even in this wretched state I knew that I was being fueled by something beyond anger, beyond rage, even beyond hatred. "And _none _of you are going to stop me."

"Katherine, I—" he reached out to put his hand on my shoulder, and I reacted without thought, slamming my palm against his chest. I don't know what I expected to happen, but even the Angel was surprised when he skidded backwards and hit the wall. He shook his head, momentarily stunned, and I took the opportunity to leave the room.

The fact that the door was locked did not matter; I simple kicked it down. I bolted down the hall and took the stairs, heading towards the roof. I didn't know why I was heading that way; perhaps the Angel had forgotten that we no longer had wings.

For the smallest of moments, Katie regained control, and I barreled through the door to the fifty-fifth floor. I slammed the door and ran down the hall, hoping to find someone to knock me out before the Angel took power again. I couldn't tell what hall this was. Maybe it was one of the unfinished ones Tony told me about.

I screamed as pain tore through my head, and I fell to my knees. "No—" I gasped, fighting to stay in control. "No, I won't—" A shriek tore from my mouth. I couldn't fight this. I wasn't strong enough. It hurt. "Please!" I screamed. "Somebody help me!"

The Angel shoved Katie back and took up the reigns. I started running again, tear tracks still on my face, fueled by anger and hatred beyond anything I had ever felt, beyond what I could understand. I took to the stairs once more, bounding upwards. Somehow, despite the blood loss and fatigue I had previously felt, I wasn't tiring. At least, I couldn't feel myself _physically_ tiring. My mind was exhausted. I couldn't keep fighting this; I didn't know how.

I emerged onto the roof, my eyes scanning the city around me. It was around noon. The sun blazed directly overhead, but cold wind blew my hair back. I didn't know what I was doing here. I stood still for a moment, thinking that perhaps the Angel had left, that I could run, but then I was urged forward towards the edge. Panic began singing through my veins, and for a moment, I broke free. I scrambled back and started screaming for help, but the wind carried my voice far away.

The Angel seized control once again, steering me forward. It was slow going, because I was fighting now, fighting harder than I ever had. I could see over the edge of the low balcony surrounding the edge. I would be falling over a thousand feet if I didn't free myself.

"No! Stop it!" I managed to shout, moving backwards a few feet. I was sobbing, fighting against myself. I didn't understand what was going on. I thought I saw a flash of movement, and I started screaming once more, begging whomever it was to help me. No one came. I was right at the edge, perched on the top of the stone barrier, staring down at the ground a hundred stories away. The wind tugged at my clothes and hair, pulling me forward—

And then it stopped. I was free. I hung, frozen, for a fraction of a second before throwing myself backwards off the wall. I landed on the roof, gravel scraping my skin, crawling back away as quickly as I could. I was shaking all over. What had just happened? I curled into the fetal position, gripping handfuls of the gravel in my fists in an attempt to steady myself. I didn't know what to do. I had literally almost thrown myself off a tower and had had no control over my actions. I didn't understand it.

I don't know how long I was there. No one came up to check on me, which I found odd, but I was also relieved. I didn't want any of the men to see me like this. I tried to think back to a time when I had been this weak, cried this much in such a little span of time. I couldn't think of anything. Not when my mom died; I had thrown myself into my schooling, intent on getting a job so Steve wouldn't have to watch over me his whole life. Not when James died; I was devastated, and I retreated into myself, but I also used my grief and rage to fuel my actions and try to take down H.Y.D.R.A. The same happened when Steve died; I cried for a while but then devoted myself to destroying the ones who destroyed me. It wasn't until now that I cried, and I thought I knew why: because I had lost everything. I was in a world I didn't belong, and I was alone. My friends and family were dead. I was weak and broken and scared and alone. I was tired.

I stood and made my way to the side, moving very carefully. I had no desire to be possessed and thrown over the side of a building. My hands rested lightly against the stone, and I leaned over the side, staring down at the world far below. It was much later in the day now; I must have been lying on the ground for a few hours. The sun was descending behind a wall of cloud, turning the edges to burnished gold. The streets were clogged with traffic, and even from here I could see little people rushing to and fro, flooding the sidewalks. Directly below the tower, though, there was little traffic. I wasn't sure why.

I looked out to my right, where I instinctually knew the Twin Towers had once stood. I sighed, brushing away a stray tear. So much death. And I couldn't stop it. I remembered now. I had gone back to New York because I head heard a rumor about H.Y.D.R.A. when I had taken my bi-annual shopping. I had flown there, hoping that nothing would happen, but I had been there only a few hours when the chaos had started. I remembered screaming and crying. I remembered seeing people jumping from the Towers in an attempt to escape the flames and the fumes. I remembered a man in black walking around the base of the tower, speaking into a phone, right before the second plane hit. I frowned, pressing my torso against the wall. I knew him. How did I know him?

I shook my head. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Without really thinking about it, I climbed up onto the railing. I wasn't afraid of heights. I had never been afraid of heights. Falling, maybe, but not heights. I balanced on the edge, my arms outspread, my eyes closed. The last rays of sunlight warmed my face, but the icy wind worked against it, freezing my skin. What would happen if I died? No one would miss me; there was no one left who cared about me. Steve. James. Howard. Eli. They were gone.

I opened my eyes and stared down at the street below me. It would be so easy to let go. All I had to do was step off the railing, and it would be over. I'd be able to fly one last time.

A voice in my head, one that sounded remarkably like my brother, spoke up, sounding panicked. _ 'What are you doing?' _It asked. _'Get down from there.'_

"Why?" I asked aloud. I wondered if I was going mad, talking to the voices in my head. Maybe I already was.

_'You can't die. You can't kill yourself. You promised you would never lose sight of who you were. You promised_ me _that you would keep on living. Do you remember that?'_

"Shut up," I whispered, fresh tears running down my cheeks. "You're dead."

'_And you're about to be,' _it snapped back. _'Don't do this. H.Y.D.R.A. will win.'_

"It's already won!" I screamed, gripping my hand in my hands. I wondered distantly what someone would think if they saw me right then. A starved, scarred young woman teetering on the edge of oblivion, silhouetted by the setting sun.

_'Not yet. Katie, if you let go, they win. The Angel wins. Don't let it. Come down. Please. Come down. For me. For your brother.'_

I started sobbing then, my body heaving with the force of them. I stood on trembling legs on the roof of the tower, torn. I wanted to die. I wanted to be free. But I couldn't face my brother, even in death, if I killed myself. I forced myself off the railing, and I fell to my knees as soon as my feet hit the ground.

I barely had time to think about what had happened, what I had almost done, because a strong body slammed into me the moment I hit the ground, nearly knocking me over, and a pair of arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders.


	25. Chapter 25

_James walked back to mine and Steve's apartment, watching us with sad eyes. He hadn't gone with us to the funeral; Steve and I had left the house before he could find us. He had offered—demanded, really—to walk back with us, but wasn't until we reached the apartment building that he finally spoke._

_ "We looked for you, after," he said. I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept my eyes trained on the ground, tracing the cracks in the concrete, not trusting myself to speak. Except for a few minutes at the funeral, I had been able to hold my emotions in check; I didn't want to fall apart now. I couldn't. I didn't want to be a burden to Steve; the last thing he needed was a weepy teenage girl to look after. "My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery."_

_ Steve spoke for me, which was a relief. I tried to push away the looming knowledge that I was an orphan, that I was alone—but with every second, it grew harder and harder to ignore. I glanced up at the overcast sky, blinking as the icy wind dried my eyes and pulled strands of blonde hair free from my braid._

_ "I know, I'm sorry," he said slowly. I looked up at him. He glanced over his shoulder at me, his normally bright eyes dull. He hadn't cried, at least not that I had seen. He was strong, much stronger than most people gave him credit for. I had a feeling that he was just as sad as I was but was trying to hold in his grief the same as I was. "I… we just kind of wanted to be alone."_

_ James glanced over at me again, blue eyes questioning and sad. "How was it?" _

_ Steve shrugged, and I fiddled with a string on my coat sleeve as I climbed up the stairs. I found myself counting them, like I had done a thousand times. Nine. Ten. Eleven. My brother's shoulders were slumped, and he seemed to be drowning in his coat, more than usual. "It was okay. She's next to Dad."_

_ James took a deep breath. "I was gonna ask..." _

_ He opened his mouth to continue, but Steve cut him off, shaking his head. "I know what you're gonna say, Buck. I just..." He started digging in his pocket for the key to the apartment, and I leaned against the railing, closing my eyes. James reached out and squeezed my shoulder kindly._

_ James pushed on, a hint of a forced smile on his face. "We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun." He moved towards the railing. "All you got to do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash." He kicked over the small brick that held our spare key. Kneeling down, he picked it up and then crossed back over to my brother and held it out to him. His voice turned from playful to serious, and I could hear the earnestness there. He wanted to help. "Come on."_

_ Steve took it and stared down at it for a while. "Thank you, Buck," he finally said, looking up at him, "but we can get by on our own."_

_ James sighed, looking heartbroken. He glanced at the ground, then at me, then back at Steve. "The thing is, you don't have to." He reached out and gripped Steve's shoulder with one hand, wrapping his other arm around my shoulders, holding me close to his side. "I'm with you to the end of the line, pal."_

_ Steve nodded, a strained smile on his face, and then went inside. He shut the door, whether to keep the cold air out or to give me a moment alone, I wasn't sure. _

_ I stayed outside with James. I didn't know if I could go back in there. Until a few days ago, it had been Steve, Mom, and I living there. Now it was just me and my brother. And I didn't think I could go back in there with all those memories inside._

_ James sighed and looked down at me. "You doing alright, Katie?"_

_ I shook my head, staring at the door. I had to go in eventually, I knew that, but for right now, I just wanted to say outside, pretend it wasn't real. James must have realized that something was wrong, because he started talking again._

_ "Katie," he asked after a moment. "Why don't you talk to Steve about what's going on?"_

_ I shrugged, tracing the toe of my shoe against the concrete. "I don't know," I murmured. "I suppose I don't think he'd want to hear it. I don't want to be a burden."_

_ James bent down and gripped my arms tightly. Not hard enough to hurt, of course, but so that I would look at him. "You are not a burden," he said firmly, looking me straight in the eyes. "You hear me? Your brother loves you. He'd do anything for you, just like I would. Don't you ever think anything different, got it?" _

_ I nodded stiffly, not really trusting myself to talk. I didn't want to cry, but maybe I needed to. I just, despite what James had just told me, didn't want to break down in front of my brother just yet._

_ "You wanna talk about what all is bothering you?" He knew, of course, that I was devastated by my mom's death, but I thought he meant more than that. 'How was my heart?' 'What can I do to help?'_

_ I took a deep breath, preparing to talk, but when I let it out, it was a sob. James bent down and wrapped his arms around me as I started crying, sobbing into his coat. I couldn't hold it in anymore. Maybe it was because Steve wasn't watching, or maybe it was because I had always felt safe around him, but I felt the wall around my heart begin to crumble as James hugged me, letting me sob my heart out. _

_ "Hey," he whispered, shushing me slightly. He didn't do it to be unkind, I knew, but rather to calm me down. There had been a time after we had met when he had come over to spend the night with my brother. I had had a nightmare, and I had woken up screaming. He had woken up and run into the room to find me crying, and he had shushed me and hugged me until I had fallen back asleep again. I had been seven at the time, and James had been thirteen, but he had always taken care of me and cared for me as if I were his sister as well. "You're gonna be okay, you hear me?" He pulled away slightly so I could see his face. He was on his knees now, and now he looked me in the eyes. _

_ I nodded, gasping, and hastily rubbed the wetness off my cheeks. He lifted his hand to my face and wiped away the tears I missed with the pad of his thumb. "You're okay," he said, nodding. I tried to nod as well, holding my breath in an attempt to keep from crying. It was no use. Hot tears spilled over onto my cheeks, and he pulled me to him as I let out the breath, another wave of sobs coming with it. One hand rested protectively on the nape of my neck, the other encircled my back. "You're okay," he whispered._

_ "Th-th-thank you," I managed to choke out, shaking violently. My face felt numb from crying, and my teeth were chattering. My nose was stuffy, running, I'm sure, and my hands were trembling._

_ I felt him shake his head. "Of course," he said softly. "I'm always gonna be here for you, Katie. Like I told your brother," he pulled back and curled his fingers into my braid, his thumb resting on my jaw. "I'm with you till the end of the line."_

_ I nodded hastily, wiping my face again. James stood, towering over me. "Thank you," I whispered again._

_ "Of course," he repeated gently. He nudged me gently towards the door. "Go on," he said, giving me a half-smile. "Go be with your brother. Talk to him. I'll be around if you need me." I nodded, and he ruffled my hair. "Love you, Katie."_

I blinked, not sure where that memory had chosen to make itself known to me. My brother and I had always been close, but it was only after Mom had died, only after James had spoken to me, that we had really opened up to one another, become the other's best friend. My heart constricted. Maybe I should have jumped. I'd have been with my brother again.

Once the shock of being tackled wore off, I just sat there in shock, trembling. I was too tired to try and fight off whoever was holding me, which was just as well: whoever it was didn't seem to want to hurt me. They held me carefully, as though I were made of china that was about to break. One of their hands was in my hair, the other on my back. I could feel the person shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

My heart began to ache. Without really thinking about it, I curled into their embrace, shifting to wrap my arms around their chest as though I had done it a thousand times. It wasn't until my head was pressed against their shoulder that I realized that there was only one person in the world that I was this comfortable around, only one person in the world who had ever held me this way, and he was dead.

I froze, my heart hammering against my chest. The man who held me made no move to release me. I felt my own limbs begin to shake as a horrible hope began to bubble up with in me. I tried to quash it, force it down, because I knew it was an impossible dream. I couldn't let myself hope for that, for him. No one could come back from the dead. All the same, it was impossible to stop the name that appeared on my tongue, impossible to keep it from escaping my lips as barely more than a whisper. _"Steve?"_

I could feel my heart hammering away in my chest. The man holding me stiffened, and for a moment, neither one of us moved. I pulled back a little bit, moving so that I could see his face. He turned his face away, facing the ground. We sat curled up on the roof, shivering, inches from each other.

_Please. Please, God, please. You saved me from dying. You kept me from jumping. Please, do one more thing for me. Please, let my brother be alive. Let this be him._ My heart was in my throat. I reached out with shaking hands and touched his cheek, then his chin, gently lifting his face so that I could see. I closed my eyes and kept them shut, though, until I knew he was facing me.

_'Please,' _I prayed, feeling my heart pounding as though about to burst. I was terrified, more afraid and eager than I had ever been. _'Please, let this be him. Let him be alive.' _After what felt like an eternity, I opened my eyes. Blue ones, identical to mine, stared back at me. I sat frozen, and time seemed to freeze as well. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My heart seemed to stop. It was him. It was Steve. It was my brother.

He was _crying_. I had only seen my brother cry once, after James died. I hadn't thought I would ever see _him_ again, much less see him cry again. And yet here he was, eyes red and watery. His cheeks were clean-shaven, as they had always been. His hair was done differently than I remembered, but his eyes—they were the same as they had always been, blue-grey, solemn, and kind. Full of love.

_How is this possible? _I cupped his face in my hands, not able to believe what I was seeing. "Steve?"

He smiled through his tears and brought his hand up to rest against my cheek. It was the same smile he had always had for me, but something was different. Something about him had changed. I recognized it, though. He was heartbroken.

How was he alive? Question after questions began forming together in my mind, but I shoved them all back. I was confused and wary and longing, praying that this wasn't some dream, some horrible nightmare I would be forced to wake up from. I couldn't bear it if I woke up. If this was a dream, then I didn't want to ever wake up. I'd rather die in my sleep then wake up and have to face the world alone again.

"You're alive?" I whispered.

A look of heartbroken pain crossed his face, and he nodded. "Yeah, Katie," he whispered, brushing my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn't realized I had shed.

"It's been so long," I whimpered, bowing my head. My heart, even as it rejoiced that my brother was back—was he really back?—was also hurting, breaking. All those years, all those decades, spent alone. He hadn't been able to protect me. He hadn't been there for me. Where had he been?

Steve pulled me close to him, wrapping his arms around me once more. "I couldn't leave my baby sister," he whispered into my hair. "Not when I made her a promise."

That was all it took for the dam to break. Any emotions I had held back—fear, anger, loss—all came flooding out as I began to weep into my brother's shirt. My brother. My brother. My brother. More than anything else, though, came the wonderful thought that I had not been able to think in decades. _I'm not alone._

"You're alive, you're alive, you're alive," I whimpered, holding him tighter. I couldn't seem to say anything else. I was still afraid, afraid that if I let go of him, he would disappear. I pressed my head to his chest. He smelled the same.

"I'm alive," he whispered back, tightening his grip. "I'm here."

My sobs slowly began to subside, and he pulled back to stare at me, brushing my hair away from my face. "You cut your hair," he said, giving me a weak smile. I tried to return it though my tears, but I didn't think I did a good enough job. He's here. He's alive. "Katie…" his voice cracked. The fractured look in his eyes froze me where I sat. He could only force out one word, and that word was all it took to break me, to shatter me. _"Why?"_

All of a sudden, I realized what had happened. It hadn't been a voice in my head that had called me back from that ledge. It had been my brother. The thought that he had seen me at my weakest, seen what I had been about to do, it tore me apart. The realness, the actuality of what I had been about to do came crashing down on me, and I felt my body go numb. If Steve hadn't gotten here in time, if I hadn't listened to him—My brother would have had to watch me die.

I had promised him, promised James—I had almost broken my promise. I had sworn to keep going if anything ever happened to them, to never give up. Steve had promised to protect me, to watch over me, and I… I realized that what I had done, what I had been about to do, had most likely destroyed him. I thought of what would have happened to him if he had failed to coax me down from the railing.

I started sobbing. I felt guilt, soul-crushing guilt, crash down upon me, and my words became more frantic. I pulled away and covered my face. I didn't deserve his love, his forgiveness. I had hurt him. How could he love me, now, after what I had been about to do? I thought about my time as a weapon, and suddenly I could remember every murder I had committed, every life I had taken. My sobs reached a keening pitch. I rocked back and forth on the ground. Surely, he would hate me. Surely he would walk away now, scorn me. He knew what I had become. He would hate me. I felt myself hit rock bottom, felt my feet collide with it, felt myself collapse. I felt my world shatter around me. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

But instead of scorning me, instead of yelling, or leaving, he came closer. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to him like he used to whenever I would have a nightmare when I was little. One hand rested in my hair, the other on my arm. He rocked me back and forth as though I was a little girl again. I could feel his heart beating, feel him trembling. I could hear his voice shaking, and my heart both broke and healed at the sound of his voice, at the words he spoke. I didn't deserve to hear those words, not after everything I'd done. But they were there, and they, more than anything else, broke me. I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve to hear him. I didn't deserve to be loved. I deserved to be thrown off the tower, to be shunned, to be locked up forever. But he didn't shun me. He didn't scorn me. He didn't hate me. He held me close to him as though I were the most valuable treasure in the world.

"I love you," he told me, repeating the three words over and over again. "I love you."


	26. Chapter 26

Steve leaned back and brushed my hair away from my tear-streaked face. The sun had nearly set, and everything was turning grey, cast in shadow. My brother's eyes were dark, but still kind, and they searched mine with an urgency I hadn't noticed I had missed. "Katie," he asked again, waiting a few moments for me to calm down and catch my breath. "Why?" He didn't seem to have the strength to voice his question past the one word, but it didn't matter; I knew what he was asking. _'Why were you about to jump?'_

I swallowed thickly, still trembling. "I couldn't…" I took a deep breath, feeling my chest constrict painfully. "Seventy years," I managed, feeling my eyes well up with tears once more. "I was alone. I couldn't—" I shook my head, pressing my lips together. "I couldn't keep going."

He pressed his hands to my temples and then pressed his forehead to mine. "You are never alone," he murmured. "Surely you haven't forgotten that?"

A small whimper escaped my lips, but I didn't answer. He didn't press me for information, but instead he held me close, resting in my presence as much as I was resting in his. "Steve?" I asked him suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Where were you? All these years, I was alone, and you…" my voice cracked. "You weren't there."

He sighed, and his breath warmed my chilled cheeks. I noticed suddenly that I was still shaking, tremors racking my small frame. "I, uh…" he took a deep breath in through his nose. "Do you remember when I… do you remember the day I…" He swallowed, and then decided on an appropriate ending to his thought. "The day I disappeared?"

I nodded, my throat stinging. "Like it was yesterday."

He nodded stiffly. I stared past his shoulder, my cheek pressed against his chest. The moon was hanging over the horizon, glowing brightly. Stars were beginning to appear, coming together in the same groups and constellations they had for millennia. "I was frozen in the ice," he said softly. I could picture his face, staring straight ahead at the moon, but not really seeing it. "For seventy years, I was asleep, frozen. S.H.I.E.L.D. found me, somehow, and I woke up a couple years ago. I'm sorry, Katie. I didn't remember you, I don't know why, and…"

I could hear the thought he held, even though he didn't share it. Even if he had remembered me, files would've said that I had disappeared decades ago. I had been assumed dead. Even if he had remembered me, he would've thought I'd aged the same as other people, that he wouldn't have ever seen me again. After all, no one knew I wasn't aging normally, not even me, until it was too late. He would've thought I'd either died in '46 or had died of old age—I was 88, after all.

But why hadn't he remembered me? Surely no one's memory was _that_ selective. He seemed to have completely forgotten I had ever existed. "What made you remember me?" I asked curiously, blinking up at him. I still couldn't see his face; I wasn't in the right position to see anything but his shoulder, but I felt him tense a bit.

"We, uh… well, you found us, the team," he started, sounding nervous. "A couple months ago. Bruce found you, patched you up. Stark and Natasha confronted you about your past; apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. has had you on their radar for a while. I dunno if they know it's _you_, but they have something on there. You tried to run, but you came straight into the living room instead, ran into Thor. I, uh…" he swallowed. "Something about you set me off, I guess. Maybe it was because I knew I knew you but couldn't remember where… I don't know. I was… mad at you. I wanted to find you, to capture you, but… I don't know why."

A crazy idea was formulating in my mind. I had been wiped—how did I know what that was? —and been forced to forget who I was. Now I remembered. H.Y.D.R.A. wiped my memory. They took everything from me. I shook my head. I couldn't dwell on that now. What if S.H.I.E.L.D. had found a way to bury someone's memories? What if they had found a way to pick and choose what memories to keep and which to erase? What if they could change them? "I might," I whispered, moving back to stare up into my brother's face.

His expression shifted from vacant to concerned. "What's wrong?" he sounded worried.

"You said that I was on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. What if they knew who I was? What if they deleted your memories of me so that they could use you to track me down?" My mind was working at an incredible speed, the gears whirring a mile a minute. "If you didn't know I was your sister, it wouldn't be hard for you to want to take me out, I'd have just been another assassin. Fury must think I'm a part of the KGB or something, after what happened… not that he gave me a chance to explain myself," I added under my breath.

Steve was shaking his head, frowning. "Slow down," he said, his brow furrowing further. "I don't understand. You think S.H.I.E.L.D. did this to me? And what did you do to Fury?"

I cleared my throat and rubbed my burned wrist with my undamaged left hand, like I did when I was nervous. "A few…" I thought for a moment, "…_decades_ ago, I was out buying supplies. After I escaped from HYDRA, I went and found Howard. He set me up with a lot of money and sent me up to Canada to keep me safe. He, uh…" I swallowed thickly. "He and his wife were killed a few days later. I lived in Canada for over twenty years, but Fury found me a few years in. He blamed me for something, I don't know what, and he shot me. He tried to take me in, but I fought back, and I scratched his eye pretty bad. He had a hold of my hand when he fell, and my engagement ring came off in his hand. He still has it, assuming he didn't throw it away. I think he thinks I was an assassin… I mean, I was, but I'm not anymore," I hastened to explain. "If he thought I was a threat, it would make sense for me to have been deleted from your memory, even though I don't know how it was done."

Steve blinked, looking shocked, but a moment later the shock turned to fury. "If they… _erased_ you," he growled. "I'm gonna—"

"You're not going to do anything, Steve," I cut him off gently, squeezing his hand. "You're not… you're not going to turn into me."

His brow furrowed, and he moved to look down at me. The moon shone on one side of his face, turning one eye bright blue and casting the other in shadow. "What are you talking about?"

I stared down at my hands. "You… do you know what I've done?" I asked, my voice turning hoarse. I couldn't bear to see his expression, so I kept my gaze glued to the scar on my arm. I felt him nod, but I plowed on. "I… I've killed people, hurt people… _innocent _people." A lump was growing in my throat. "I'm not the same little girl I was when you left, Steve. I'm a murderer, and assassin." An orphan. A soldier. An Angel. A shudder ran through me, and I clenched my hands into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood.

"I don't care," my brother whispered.

I craned my neck to stare up at him. I could feel my eyes growing wide with disbelief. "How can you say that?" I whispered. I could feel myself retreating, hiding. I wanted to believe him, more than anything, but I couldn't understand why he would still love me after everything I'd done.

He took hold of my shoulders and turned me so that we were facing each other. "I don't care about what you've done," he said firmly, staring me in the eye. "I don't care about what you've become. You know why?" I shook my head numbly. "Because you're my sister, and I love you."

At that moment, the door at the opposite end of the roof opened. Clint appeared, looking around, and his eyes focused on the two of us. "Steve," he said, sounding worried. He glanced at me. "I thought Tony said…"

My brother shook his head. "It doesn't matter what Tony said," he replied. "She needed me."

The archer nodded, and to my surprise, a smile appeared on his lips. He bent his head towards me. "I'm glad you've got your brother back," he told me. "C'mon," he said in a louder voice, turning and heading back inside. "Everyone's waiting."

Steve stood with a sigh and pulled me gently to my feet. I leaned against him tiredly. I didn't want to go inside. I wished I could stay out here forever. "C'mon, Katie," Steve smiled softly at me and tugged me forward.

I followed hesitantly, climbing with him down the stairs. My knees shook with every step, so I kept a firm grip on my brother's hand. I couldn't believe that he was here. I wanted to break down in his arms, weeping, for the next decade—and would have, too, if it weren't for the fear that he would soon reject me for the things I'd done, no matter what he said to deny that. We took the elevator down to where the living area was—apparently I had been judged too weak to walk down twenty flights of stairs—and rode it in silence. My brother had a small crease in between his eyes brows, like he always did when he was worried.

"Steve?" I asked softly. I got a little thrill at being able to call my brother again, to see him look up at me questioningly, those big blue eyes wide and curious. "What's wrong?"

My brother glanced up at me a moment later, his eyes clearing. "Oh, uh, nothing," he tried, giving me a slight smile.

I frowned. "Steve…"

He sighed. "Something that Stark said a few days ago, it's been bothering me. But don't worry about it, it's nothing."

Before I could open my mouth to respond, the doors opened silently. I stood still. I wasn't sure that I wanted to meet everyone, not after what had just happened. Steve took my hand and tugged me gently from the elevator and down the hall. I leaned back slightly, trying to pull away. I was used to having more momentum than this; used to being able to throw out my wings and fly away. Even before I got my wings, I was able to pull away from Steve; he had always been smaller than me. Now I was smaller and weaker, and I didn't like it.

"C'mon," he murmured.

I blinked, and suddenly Steve wasn't there anymore. James was. It was 1943, the last night before James was sent overseas.

_"C'mon," he murmured, eyes glinting. He held out his hand to me, and behind his confident front I could see the nervousness hovering around him. "Just one dance, Katie."_

_ I smiled softly and took his hand, then gasped as he spun me around so our chests nearly touched. He placed one hand on my back, guiding my left hand to rest on his arm. He then took my other hand in his and started to sway back and forth, guiding me in small circles. I couldn't help but keep my eyes fixed on my shoes; I'd hate to step on his feet. A small band was playing on the corner beside us, the music guiding our steps._

_ "You know," he drawled a moment later, glancing down at me with a smile on his face. "I've been thinkin' 'bout how you've only had one nickname your whole life."_

_ I glanced up at him curiously, looking away from my feet for a moment. "What?"_

_ He glanced down at me. "Sure," he shrugged. "You can't just have _one _nickname your whole life. And it's my job," he tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably, dissolving into laughter. "As you friend, to give you one."_

_ "Is it, now?" I tilted my head, laughing as he spun me around. My left foot left the ground as I pivoted on my right, and he spun me again, right into his arms. I could feel his heart beating through his shirt. _

_ "It sure is," he replied softly, picking up the dance again._

_ "Well, what've you got in mind?" I asked him, tilting my head back as he spun me again. My curls, once pinned back, had fallen over my shoulders, and a few small ones were hanging before my eyes._

_ All of a sudden he glanced up and around at the band. His brow furrowed a bit, then cleared. "I recognize this song," he announced, spinning me once. It started to drizzle, but I didn't really care._

_ I giggled as I came back to him. James had actually taught me to dance when we were little, but I had had no idea that the lessons would be useful. "It's from 'Pinocchio,'" I reminded him, trying in vain to blow some of the wet strands of hair away from my face. "The film from a couple years ago, before the war."_

_ He nodded in recognition. "Oh, yeah. What's the song called?" he asked._

_ "'When You Wish Upon A Star,'" I recited softly, shaking a few wet strands of hair from my face. I had loved that song and film, though I had only seen it once._

_ "And… doesn't an angel come when you do?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk upon his face. It wasn't an unkind look, more of a devious, happy one. _

_ A playful glint appeared in his eyes, and I gave him a teasing look. "A fairy, I think," I replied. _

_ His face scrunched up for a moment. "Nope, it's an angel," he declared. The song began to draw to a close, and we slowly stopped moving, only swaying in place now. "Y'know how I know?" he asked me softly._

_ "How?" I breathed. We were very close now, and had completely stopped moving. The music faded into the background. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears._

_ "'Cause you're here," he murmured. He chuckled in response to my questioning look and brushed a wet lock of hair away from my face. "When I was little, I used to wish that an angle would come and watch over me. It look a little while, but you finally got here." His blue eyes stared into mine, smiling and bright. "You're my Angel," he whispered._

"Katie?"

I blinked. Steve was staring at me with concern. I had frozen in the hallway, blacking out for a few moments as I relieved the memory. "I, uh…" I blinked again, clearing my vision. The man before me was Steve, not James. James had been dead for seventy years; there was no way he could have been here.

He tilted his head a bit and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just… I thought you were…" I trailed off, looking into his eyes. He was curious, concerned. I didn't want to worry him. "Nevermind. It's nothing."

He gave me a dubious look and then glanced into the room a few paces away. I could hear the others laughing and talking. "You don't have to go in there, you know," he whispered to me. "You've had a rough day, you could just go up to bed."

I thought about what had happened just that morning, when I had shoved Thor across the room and into the wall. I shook my head, not looking forward to the mess that awaited me. "No, I'm alright."

I took a deep breath and stepped into the room. The floor went silent. I could feel several pairs of eyes on me, and I suddenly regretted not going back to my room. Tony stood up, his eyes as hard as steel. When he spoke, his voice was controlled, but it was obvious that he was angry.

"Rogers, I thought we agreed to wait?" he bit out. He was clenching his beer bottle so hard that I was surprised it hadn't shattered yet. I could see a vein pulsing in his forehead.

"She needed me," Steve retorted, angry.

"She needed to _heal_."

I glanced between the two of them, putting the pieces together. "You knew he was alive?" I whispered, my voice dangerously low. The temperature of the room seemed to drop ten degrees, and the room went dead silent. I could feel the anger seething within me, ready to boil over at any moment. "You kept him away from me?"

"It was for your own good," Tony said. His face was impassive, but I could see the worry in the lines of his face, see how his eyes darted around to the others. "If you'd see him, you would have—"

"_Don't _give me excuses," I growled, clenching my hand into fists. "You _knew _what was happening. You knew I needed my brother, and you _kept him away?!_"

I could see the others behind him reaching for their weapons. All except one. Bruce Banner stood and stepped in front of Tony, his hands raised in front of him. "You need to calm down," he barked, not looking at all calm himself.

"Don't tell me what to do," I shot back. I was seeing red. For the second time that day, I could feel the Angel rising up within me. "You have no idea what I've been through!"

"I know more than you think," he replied. His voice was low, not raised, but somehow the edge in it made me back up a few paces. Something was wrong with him. His eyes were burning with rage.

I knew I should shut up, back down, but I couldn't help myself. I glared back at him, challenging him. "Really?" I taunted, stepping forward. I heard my voice harden, felt my shoulders straighten. The Angel was all but in control now. Banner's countenance hardened as well, his jaw locking. It could have been my imagination, a trick of the light, but I could have sworn that he was turning green. "Prove it."


	27. Chapter 27

Banner knew he was being led on, I could tell. His skin was visibly green now, something that confused me terribly, and he seemed to be growing taller and more muscular, his shirt beginning to stretch along his chest and arms.

"Bruce."

The red haired woman had moved to stand in front of him, looking him in the eye. I could see her face, or hear what she said, but before I knew it, she backed away, and he calmed down. I could see that he wanted to release his anger on me, but... he didn't. He stepped back, his fists shaking at his sides.

I didn't realize until then that my body was shaking like a leaf. I took a breath, not realizing until then that I had been holding it.

Banner looked like it was physically hurting him to step away, but he did anyway, moving to sit back on the couch. His coloring returned to normal, his shirt now hanging normally on his frame. His brown eyes bored into mine, still burning, and I looked away, breathing heavily. The Angel retreated, and my shoulders sagged. I took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. The woman sat down beside him, keeping her green eyes trained on me.

"You shouldn't have kept this from me," I finally said, looking back up at Tony, who hadn't moved from his place by the coffee table.

He gave a slight nod, eyes fixed on the floor. He seemed shocked that Bruce hadn't attacked me, which I didn't understand. Bruce was one of the kindest men I had ever known. How could he attack someone? My eyes drifted to rest on Thor, who was watching me warily. My chest ached with guilt, and I pressed the knuckles of my right hand into the palm of my left, squeezing gently.

I moved forward slowly until I stood before him. "I am sorry that I attacked you," I murmured. "I should have worked harder to remain in control. I apologize if you were injured because of me."

The large man shook his head, golden hair falling down past his jaw. "You are forgiven, Katherine Rogers." I winced at the use of my full name but accepted it all the same. The demigod didn't seem to have grasped the concept of nicknames. The thought made my heart twinge. James had. "You were not in control when you attacked me." He paused for a fraction of a second, his bright eyes darkening for a moment. "Who was?"

I gulped, paling as the eyes of everyone in the room swiveled round to focus on me. I wished that I could still fly; I wanted to fly far, far away from here, where no one could see me. "I—" my voice came out as a squeak. I cleared my throat and sank down to sit on the edge of the couch opposite from Bruce. "The Angel," I managed to whisper. "She was in control."

Confused glances flew around the room as the woman and men settled down to listen to me. Steve settled in beside the woman one with short red hair.

"I've always had trouble controlling my emotions," I murmured, gazing down at my hands. "But it only got worse after Steve and James died... or, I guess, disappeared. Once I was captured by HYDRA, though, it got much, much worse." I thought back to the flashbacks I'd experienced, the memories I was recovering. "They'd wipe my memory," I murmured. "But the Angel would remember. She was—is—the manifestation of all my anger, all my rage. She is the murderer, the assassin. She's also the reason I'm alive now."

"So..." Steve spoke up, glancing around the circle as if for help. "She's like the Hulk?" I frowned. "Who?"  
"Bruce can turn into a giant green rage monster," Tony supplied from the back of he

couch, glancing over at me. "Thought you should know before you tried to piss him off again." "Oh." I blinked and met his eyes, suddenly cowed. Although I doubted I would want to meet this... _Hulk _head on, I had little doubt that the Angel would want to. I'd have to work doubly hard to keep her in check now.

Before I could say anything else, the lights in the building shut off. I looked around, worried, as an alarm went off. Red lights began flashing, and I flinched back at the noise. Steve placed his hand on my shoulder as he stood, talking to the others over the noise.

"Katie, you stay here," Steve yelled as the others bolted from the room. "Pepper's about to be back, you can catch up with her. I've got to take care of something, alright?"

"What is it?" I frowned at the look on his face. "Steve?"

"Fury says to hurry," Tony stepped up, handing him a small device. "It's important. Natasha will be going with you."

The pair disappeared. A moment later, the lights came back on, and the alarm ceased its blaring. Bruce was taking deep breaths, looking a bit green.

"I have to return to Asgard, as I said before," Thor says to Tony softly, glancing over at me. "Take care of her."

The large blonde man gave me a small smile and then strode out the doors, heading for the roof.

"I'm out too," Clint spoke up.

"Clint?" my voice broke.

"Hey, kiddo." He sat down beside me.

"Everyone's leaving," I murmured, frowning. "Why?"

"We've all got a job to do, Katie," he murmured. "We've all got responsibilities. Nat will take care of your brother, though, alright? She's a lot stronger than she looks."

"She looks pretty badass," I muttered, and he grinned.

"Oh, she is." He caught me staring at the elevator door and sighed. "Katie, you've got to stop worrying."

"I spent seventy years thinking he was dead," I murmured. "And I spent the eighteen years before that worrying that he'd be beaten up because of me. It's in my nature to be protective."

"I know how that feels," he whispered.

My heart clenched at the reminder of what we had both lost, and my eyes stung. "Clint, I—"

"'S not your fault," he shook his head as he stood up. "I've got to go too. Secret mission."

I bit my lip. I felt as though everyone was suddenly leaving, and I had the horrible feeling that none of them would be coming back. The last two times my brother's team had gone out on a mission, they had lost a member. The first time it had been James, and the second time it had been Steve. I couldn't lose him again. And I found myself realizing that I couldn't lose Clint either, not right after I had lost Eli. "When will you be back?"

"I dunno." He gave me a small smile, and in it I could see a reflection of all the pain he was trying to hide from me. "This is probably the safest place I can be, though." He gave my hand a tight squeeze. "Stay safe, kiddo. Your brother will be back soon."

I nodded and watched as he left. Tony had left sometime while Clint and I spoke, leaving Bruce and I alone in the room.

"I'm sorry, Bruce," I murmured, glancing over at him. My hands were shaking. I twisted my ring around my finger, wishing for the thousandth time that my engagement ring was joining it. Not for the first time did I feel a wave of resentment rising up within me, directed at the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury, who had stolen it from me. "I shouldn't have attacked you like that. You've been nothing but a friend to me and did nothing to warrant such treatment. Forgive me."

He shook his head. "I know what it's like to lose control," he muttered. "Better than anyone else here. I'm probably one of the only people who can understand what it is you're going through right now. I can't be angry with you for that, not when I'm going through the same thing. I mean, I get a bit bigger, but you get the point."

A small smile turned my lips up. "Thank you, Bruce."

He grinned back, his coloring returning to normal. "You're welcome, Katie."

I glanced towards the doors. "Where'd everyone go, anyway?"

"Their separate missions," he replied, leaning back. "Fury's been assigning Natasha to work with Steve lately, no idea what that's about." He said it casually, but I heard the strain in his voice, as if he was trying to keep from turning into the Hulk at the mention of the two together. A smile tugged at my lips. Did Bruce like Natasha? "Barton's got his own thing going on, he disappears every once in a while for a few days. Thor's got to go back home to deal with some family matters, whatever that means. And Tony... I dunno what he's up to."

"Do you all normally live here?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nah. Only the last few months, and that's only because of you, to be honest. We all met up after a mission to rest up and regroup, and that's when you showed up. You led us on a bit of a wild goose chase for a while there, so we set up shop here. Tony had already planned everything out, I think, and assigned our rooms and such."

"I have my own room here," I thought back to the one I had essentially ruined and winced. "Why?"

"Well, we can't very well let Fury know that you're here, not after everything you have gone through with him, and so we all thought it best that once we found you and cleared you, you'd need somewhere to stay. We didn't think you had a home."

"I do," I smiled sadly at him. "Up in Canada. I can fly there in a couple days, stay there where it's safe..." I trailed off when my wounds gave a painful twinge, and a tear rolled down my cheek. I had forgotten that I couldn't fly anymore. And with my spotty memory and knack for hiding things, it was unlikely I'd every find my way home again. I pulled my knees to my chest and took a deep breath.

"You okay?" Bruce asked softly. I shrugged. "I know what it's like to lose everything," he told me softly. "It's not fun."

I let out a choked laugh at that. "Understatement of the century right there," I breathed.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so. I know I haven't been through the same things you have, Katie. I haven't fought in a war. I didn't lose my fiancé, or my brother. I wasn't experimented on. I wasn't tortured. I didn't escape only to be captured again and experimented on more."

"What's your point?" I asked him, glancing over.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "My point, Katie, is that I know what it's like to be looked at like a monster. I know that it's like to lose control. I know what it's like to hurt someone you care about, to lose someone you love. I understand what it's like waking up every morning afraid that someone is going to find me, hurt me, hunt me down. I know what it's like to spend every waking moment struggling with the knowledge that one wrong move or thought or action will trigger something so much more that I can control. I know what you're dealing with, and I might be the only one in the world who does. I just want you to know that you're not alone, no matter how much you might feel you are."

By the end of his little speech, I had tears in my eyes. I moved over to his couch and sat down my him, resting my head against his shoulder, and cried. I didn't know I could dry anymore than I already had, but I did, and I continued weeping until I found the strength to tell Bruce what I couldn't even fully admit to my brother.

"I tried to kill myself," I whispered. I felt him stiffen beneath me, but I continued. "Right after James died. I went back to the ravine where he had fallen, and I fell, but one of the men caught me. He followed me, see. He thought I might try something. His name was Dugan. He was a good man." I sniffed. "He's gone now, I'm sure. He promised not to tell Steve if I promised to tell him, but I never had the chance. I tried again just now, but it was the Angel's fault too. I think she missed our wings more than I do, if it's possible."

"Why do you say that?" Bruce asked.

"Because she brought me up to the roof and tried to make me jump," I whispered. "I haven't been afraid of heights on decades, so I wasn't afraid to fall. I wasn't afraid to die. I... I wanted to die, Bruce." I looked over at him with watery eyes. "I had lost everything; my brother, my fiancé, my freedom, my friend... everything. I was seconds from jumping when I heard Steve's voice, and at first I thought I was imagining it. If I hadn't listened, I'd be dead. I would have killed myself in front of my brother."

"But you didn't," he murmured.

"Even with him here, though..." I shook my head. "I still have lost almost everything that I cared about. What do I do?"

He took my hand and squeezed it tightly. "Find something worth living for." He glanced down for a moment. "I have a friend, his name is Coulson, he works for S.H.I.E.L.D. He has a team, a group of kids. Well, young adults, really, but kids next to you. Maybe he'd let you join the team?" he suggested. "Make friends."

I offered him a small smile. "I don't think S.H.I.E.L.D.'s the best place for me right now," I murmured. "Not after everything that's happened to me. Besides, I don't trust big organizations that claim to fight for one main goal, even if that goal is the good of all. It's too easy for something like that to get infected, corrupted."

"The Avengers are apart of S.H.I.E.L.D.," Bruce told me, a small smile on his face.

To his surprise, I shook my head. "No you're not. S.H.I.E.L.D. may have brought you together, but you're not apart of it. Steve may work with them, but he doesn't work for them. Same with Clint, I think, and you, and Tony, and Thor. You all work with S.H.I.E.L.D., not for it, and you've all got something more important that you fight for, whether it's freedom, family... whatever. But you don't work for the corporation."

"What's so wrong with that?" Bruce asked curiously.

I shrugged. "It's easy to lose sight of the big picture when you work for a giant like S.H.I.E.L.D. It's too much like HYDRA. When you're in a corporation like that, everything goes. Everything is permissible, save genocide, and even those lines get blurred. When someone's putting ideas in your head, sugar coating them to seem like they'll help people, that's when things go wrong. I've seen it happen. With the Nazis, with HYDRA... when a man steps up and puts ideas in your head, no matter how horrible, that you agree with only a little... it's dangerous."

"Some would argue that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s not like that," Bruce answered. I noticed, though, that he himself did not seem to agree with what he was saying. I guessed it had to do with the fear he told me about earlier, and I wondered if S.H.I.E.L.D. had been a source of it. "That S.H.I.E.L.D. is good."

"Very few people join a group knowing that it is bad. Some do it for power, some money, some safety, but few go into something with the knowledge that they are going to hurt of kill people. But by the time it comes down to hurting or killing someone, the ideas the leader has planted are ingrained too deep, and the man are brainwashed, sort of. They're convinced that their ideals are the right ones. Not all Nazis were evil. Certainly not all Germans were evil. But many of them were caught up in Hitler's words of power and might and superiority and therefore did atrocious things that I cannot repeat for fear of losing control again. Some people forget that the first country the Nazis invaded was their own. Not all the people were evil. Not all fought for the wrong thing. But faced with death... what would most do to protect themselves, to protect their families? They would do whatever it took. And they did. Even if it cost them their humanity, they did. I have spoken with some Germans who lived during that time. Some are still in prison; they were very surprised to see me there after so long. Many of them wept when they saw me." I rubbed my eyes and sighed. "My point from all this is... be careful. Don't get caught up in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fancy logo and all its power and might and dreams of a free, new world. Everything comes with a price, power most of all, and power corrupts. What is the saying? Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Don't be corrupted, Bruce. Don't let the others be either. Be careful. Please."

He nodded. "I will. You'll be here to help, though, won't you?"

I shrugged. "For as long as I can. I went though a lot, Bruce. More than I should have been able to endure. Mentally, physically... I should be dead or insane. I'm not so sure that I'm fully sane anymore, not after all the death I've caused. But I've learned enough to know how to avoid it, when I can. Don't get caught up like I did, okay?"

He nodded, and I smiled. "Thank you."  
He frowned, his brow furrowing. "For what?"

"For listening."


	28. Chapter 28

I was asleep when my brother got back. Pepper Potts—who was quite kind, by the way—had given me a spare room to sleep in, at least until mine was repaired. Apparently I had done some damage to the room; I wasn't about to go back into a room with no walls, especially since I didn't have wings anymore.

I winced, the thought jerking my out of sleep. My eyes opened and stared into the darkness. Hot tears brimmed over onto my lashes, stinging my eyes. My wings were gone. I knew that I had much bigger things to worry about, like the Angel, and my brother, but… but losing my wings was like… like losing a part of my soul. Even if I hadn't been so attached to them—no pun intended—I still would have to re-learn how to fight without them. It had been decades since I had fought on my feet, no other option but to run, kick, or punch. I had always had another way out: flying—which, until recently, no one else could do. Apparently Asgardians and metal suits cancelled that ability out.

I rolled over and crossed my arms over my stomach, my fingers fisting the comforter tightly, and moved my gaze to rest on the ceiling. A bit of light shone under the door from the hallway, but not much. It was more than I had experienced in my time as HYDRA's prisoner, though, so I would take it.

A soft knock sounded against my door before it slid silently open. My brother stood in the doorway, peering into the room.

"Steve?" I sat up in bed, pulling the covers around me.

"Hey, Katie. Can I come in?" I nodded, and he moved to sit beside me. He smelled of sweat and blood, and I flinched away from the stench. I had spent too much time reeking of it myself to be unaffected by it. He didn't seem to notice. "How are you doing?"

I shrugged and lowered my gaze to rest on the comforter, picking at a loose thread. "Fine."

"Freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional," he muttered. I frowned, and he shrugged. "Apparently they've found a new definition for it. I think it fits." He reached out and grasped my hand, pulling my fingers away from the rapidly unraveling blanket. "How are you, really?"

I shrugged again, blinking back tears. "Not okay," I murmured. "I just… my memory…" I struggled to find the right words to formulate my thoughts. "I can't… It's hard," I finally managed, my lips turning up in a forced smile. "Especially with my wings gone…"

"You're getting better, though," he whispered, squeezing my hand. "Pepper said you've been getting a whole lot better."

"But I'm not," I whispered. "Steve, it's been more than two weeks since you left, and I'm no better at all!"

"Had the Angel tried to make you kill yourself?" his voice was sharp, his eyes bright. He had apparently been trying to adjust to the idea that his little sister had split personalities, forcing himself to recognize that the Angel was, like the Hulk, an uncontainable monster. Unlike the Hulk, though, the Angel didn't view my wellbeing as a high priority.

"No. I wasn't talking about her, though." And I wasn't. Now that I had remembered almost everything—everything important, I hoped, had been recovered; I couldn't stand for another life-shattering memory to surface and send me sobbing into a closet again—I was able to grieve. I could grieve for my wings, grieve for my friends, and grieve for my fiancé. I missed James so much, and unlike Steve, he wasn't coming back. I was falling into depression. I spent enough time alone after escaping HYDRA the first time that I had experienced depression, served my time grieving, and then emerged from it. There still had been moments where I had wept over what I had lost, what I had done, but I had made it through. This time, though… I had remembered everything that had happened to me before and during the war, as well as glimpses of what I had done afterwards. Almost everything from after my escape I remembered well.

Still, whenever a memory struck me from my time as the Angel, I would be driven to hysterics. Bruce has had to tranquilize me more than once in the last few weeks in an attempt to calm me down.

Right now, though, I wasn't grieving about my losses—human losses, at least—or dreading remembering something about my time as HYDRA's weapon. Right now, I was in pain. Tony sent in orders for me to begin physical therapy, which was awful, but needed to be done. Whenever Clint was in town, which had been once, yesterday—although he promised he would drop by more often—he would train alongside me, pushing me to my limit. He seemed to know exactly when to stop, though; maybe having an enhanced brother had helped him with me.

The memory of Eli made me wish he wouldn't come by so often. Yesterday the sight of Clint had sent me into hysterics as I relived the memory of seeing my friend killed right in front of me. Once Clint had found me in my refuge (a closet on the 27th floor), he calmed me down and proceeded to train with me. The one thing I liked about training—well, two things, actually—were that it was familiar and that when I trained, I could forget. When I was punching, or running, or lifting weights, or climbing rock walls… I could pour myself into the training instead of thinking about my grief.

The training/therapy wasn't perfect, though. There still were instances where I would be halfway through a run or partway up a wall and a memory would strike, sending me to the floor. My stomach and chest were badly scraped up from the last time it had happened—I had skidded a ways on the floor until finally coming to a stop.

"Katie?"

I blinked and looked over at my brother. He was gazing at me intently, worry etched across his face. I flushed, realizing at I had drifted off. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"It's alright. I was just asking if you needed anything?"

He was lying, I could tell. He had asked me something else, something important, but I couldn't remember what.

"Where have you been?" I asked him softly.

He glanced over at me and then sighed, his shoulders slumping. I caught his gaze drifting towards the scars on my back, my shoulders, my arms, particularly lingering on the burned flesh that covered my right arm. He reached out and took my scarred hand, cradling it gently as if it were made of glass.

"How did this happen?" he asked me. I wondered briefly if he was asking me to try and distract me or if he truly had not heard me ask my own question. I decided to humo him, if only for a moment; if he was trying to keep me from knowing the answer, there was a chance that I would be too angry to speak to him upon hearing it. I might as well talk to him while I wasn't angry with him.

"I, uh…" I thought back, trying to sift through decades of blurry memories for the scar that matched the one on my arm. After a few moments, I remembered, and I closed my eyes as I recounted it as best I could to my brother. "I was sent on a mission to kill the president of the United States," I murmured softly. I felt Steve's eyes drilling holes into the side of my head, but I didn't look at him. "I…" I frowned. "Something stopped me." A blurry face. Stormy blue eyes. A metal arm. "Another assassin. He blew up the block, and… and my arm was burned. I was wiped because…" I frowned again. "Because…"

The memory was incredibly hazy. I couldn't remember the words I spoke, or even whom I exchanged them with. Everything had a muted, hollow quality, as if I were hearing them from underwater, unable to make them out. I couldn't even see the face of the man I was speaking to. I remembered a feeling of remembrance, a burst of anger—I guess that this was the Angel making an appearance—and then a surge of terror and loss so strong that I doubled over, tears springing to my eyes. I recalled being slapped across the face and then forced back… a burning pain tore through my head, and then… nothing. Nothing until the night I escaped.

"Katie?"

I blinked, looking up. My heart was pounding in my chest, my eyes burning. Steve's hand was wrapped around mine tightly. "I can't talk about this," I murmured, shaking my head. I pulled my hand from Steve's grasp and ran my fingers through my hair.

"You can tell me," Steve murmured.

I lifted my gaze to his face, my eyes narrowing. "No, I _can't_. You don't seem to get it. I can not talk about this." I turned my burning gaze to the floor as my brow furrowed. "Where have you been these last few weeks?"

Steve stiffened beside me, and I lifted my gaze to rest on his prone form. When he didn't answer, my patience began to thin. "Steve." He glanced over at me. "An—"

"I've been working at S.H.I.E.L.D." He cut me off before I could finish. I stared at him in shock. My blood turned to ice for a reason I didn't quite understand, and the blurry face from my memory flashed across my vision. I shuddered, goosebumps rising along my unscarred arm.

"Why?" I could barely force the word out.

S.H.I.E.L.D., at least before Nick Fury tracked me down in the nineties , had been on my side, apparently. According to Pepper, who had been the only one still around besides Bruce, Peggy had known I had been alive. Apparently at some point during the fifties, my mask had slipped off my face during one of my assassinations. She had recognized me immediately and known that something was wrong. Generally when you see an old friend trying to shoot you who hasn't aged in almost two decades, you know something is wrong. Peggy had guessed that something had happened to me and had sent Howard Stark to dig up anything he could on my disappearance. There hadn't been much. After Steve's plane crashed, I had run away. I had been without contact with the SSR for a year before my capture, so there wasn't much to find except for a few sightings here and there, at least until my career as an assassin took off. After that, Peggy had learned that I was being held by HYDRA. She and a few trusted members of the "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division" had spent the next few decades trying to track down my whereabouts. They actually were very close to finding my location when I had escaped. They found out from Howard that I had made it to him, and the next day he locked in on HYDRA's location. A week later, he was dead.

S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't always been my enemy. In fact, although I hadn't known it, it had actually been my ally for almost fifty years. But now that Peggy had resigned and Fury had taken up the gauntlet… S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't a friend of mine. Not anymore. It didn't matter if Peggy and Howard had helped found it. Howard was dead. Peggy, from what I had heard from Pepper, was dying. The world had changed, and S.H.I.E.L.D. along with it. It wasn't a safe place anymore. So to learn that my brother was working with them? With the people who had tried to hunt me down and kill me?

"It's the right thing to do," he answered. "It's not all bad, Katie. Peggy helped found it, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Besides, it's best that I can see for myself what all's going on. I don't like being in the dark." I glanced over at my older brother. His gaze had darkened, his jaw clenching up.

"But are you willing to trade your security and privacy for theirs?"

He frowned, but I kept going. "When you're there, yeah, you can see what's going on, but… but they can see you."

"They're not going to try and kill me, Katie."

"Don't play dumb with me, Steven." I recrossed my legs as they began to grow numb. "I was there with you when you received the Super Soldier Serum. I saw the man who shot Doctor Erskine. He—a member of HYDRA—walked in the front door of SHIELD and murdered a dozen people."

"HYDRA isn't around anymore."

A humorless laugh escaped my lips. "Don't be so naïve. _I_ am proof that HYDRA still exists, that it has always existed."

"You're not HYDRA," he argued, his voice rising.

"But I fought for them. Goodness, Steve—" I kicked off the covers and rose up onto my knees before settling back onto my calves. "Even if I hadn't been their weapon, their ally—because I _was_ their ally, even if I didn't know it—" I cut him off angrily, my voice rising to match his. "The people who experimented on me, who tortured me? They are real. They are HYDRA. Didn't you see the symbol on the wall?"

He glanced away.

"Stevie."

He looked back at me. I understood then. He didn't want for HYDRA to be real anymore. He was happy. He had found friends. He had found his family. Everything was just settling into place, and then I had shown up and blown everything out of the water. He had discovered memories he hadn't known he had, discovered a sister he had forgotten. I had already cast doubt on the perfect world that had been painted around him, and now I was trying to pull it apart at the seams. I was justified, yes. I had a good reason for doing so. But I was hurting my brother. I didn't know how messed up his mind was from whatever had happened that had erased his memory of me, and I didn't know how it affected his decisions. But I did know that at his core, all he wanted was to protect the people he cared about; to protect me. And he couldn't do that if he didn't know what he was facing.

I made my decision. I knew it would hurt him. I knew he would be angry, that he would likely yell at me, that he would storm out of the room. When we were children, he rarely did it. After our mother died, we were our only family, and he knew I needed someone to look out for me. But we were adults now. I was almost eighty-nine years old; he was ninety-five. I was, in experience, older than he was now. If we talked about how much we had aged physically, I was in my forties, while Steve was still in his twenties, although I was damaged and immature enough to qualify as a teenager. But I couldn't stand down. Not this time.

"You can't trust them, Steve."

His expression hardened, and he stood up. My chest ached, and my throat began to hurt, but I stood as well, sliding off the mattress and onto the floor. "You have to listen to me, Steve."

"That's enough."

It would have been better if he had shouted. The anger and betrayal in his voice was enough to knock me back a step, and not for the first time that night did I was I still had my wings to steady me.

I shook my head. "No, it's not."

He turned and started walking out of the room. "Steven Grant Rogers, stop acting like a child!" My voice rose to a shout. My hands were clenched at my sides, my back ramrod straight. He turned and faced me inches from the door jam. "You can't run from this," I told him, trying my hardest to keep my voice from shaking. "You can't ignore me."

"You've never trusted S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve frowned. "You're biased against them."

"Steve, I've seen more than you have," I snapped. "I've seen more wars than you have, I've seen more death that you have, I've been apart of more lies and deception than you can possibly imagine, but you have to know I'm telling the truth when I say I've never lied to you. If Peggy or Howard were here, things would be different. I might trust SHEILD if they were here, but they're not. Howard is dead. He died for trying to find me. Peggy worked for decades to find me after glimpsing my face on one of my earlier missions. She knew I was alive and never gave up hope trying to find me. She kept S.H.I.E.L.D. off my scent, kept me safe. If Peggy did that…" I trailed off, watching his face. "If you won't trust me," I whispered, "trust her. Even she didn't fully trust S.H.I.E.L.D."

He looked down at the floor and then turned to go.

"Steve…" he stopped once more but didn't look back at me. This was my last chance. Panic welled up within me. I didn't know whether he was leaving for the night or leaving permanently, and I had to plant an idea into his head, get him to consider my words. I had to plant doubt in his mind, no matter how much it hurt us both to do so. If he continued working with them, and they ended up being like HYDRA or, worse, if they ended up to _be _HYDRA, then Captain America would be the first one they would look for to take out. "Why didn't you remember me when I showed up here? How did Fury know who I was when he found me all those years ago? If they were hiding something then, then they're hiding something now. You can't trust them, Steve. They're not what they seem."

He left the room, and the door slid shut behind him, plunging the room into darkness. As soon as he left, my resolve broke. I fell to my knees against the side of the bed and curled against the blankets that had fallen to the floor. And as the night stretched on, I wept, grieving for the ones I loved, the ones I couldn't keep safe. The ones I had to push away to keep safe.

"I'm so sorry, Steve," I whispered, covering my mouth with shaking hands. Tears made my skin slick, and strands of hair stuck to my face. "But I can't let you do this. I can't let you die."


	29. Chapter 29

When I woke up the next day, Steve was gone. I shouldn't have been surprised; after our conversation the night before, I was lucky he hadn't disowned me. Pepper was waiting for me in the living room to tell me the news: Steve was officially working for S.H.I.E.L.D. He had stopped by the night before to gather his things and say goodbye to me—something he had neglected doing correctly, I might add—and then had left for Washington D.C.

The thought of that place made my chest constrict. I couldn't go there, I couldn't even think about the place, not without feeling an immense weight like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I guess I wouldn't be visiting.

"He'll be alright," Pepper had told me, mistaking my nausea at the reminder of Eli's death for trepidation regarding my brother's newest job. "Natasha is looking out for him."

I had nodded in confirmation that I had heard her and then had retreated downstairs to the gym, where I had proceeded to run several laps around the built-in-track. It was one of the only places where I could go to _not _think, where I could _not _remember. When I ran, I could pretend that I was back in the nineteen forties, running with James in the park across the street from my home. I could pretend that I was a girl again, a kind, free, innocent girl in love.

I scoffed at the thought, pulling my mind away from such thoughts as best I could. It had been two weeks since Steve had left, and nothing of interest had happened except that Clint had begun to come over several times a week to whip me back into shape. The first time I had come down here to train after Steve had left me two weeks ago, I had thrown up three times. Now, though, I was doing pretty well. Surprisingly well, actually. I felt that Clint was almost worried at how quickly I was healing. I could run farther than I had in a long time. Although in recent years, it had been flying that I had focused on. Those muscles were gone now.

Barely had the thought crossed my mind than I tripped, rolling a few yards on the track before coming to a stop on my back. I brought my hands up to cover my face as I bit back a yell. My back was still healing, and I couldn't afford to reinjure myself every time I needed to get away from other people. A memory surfaced, one that I hadn't remembered in a long while, and I smiled softly as tears welled up in my eyes.

_"C'mon, Katie! You can go faster than that!" James was running _backwards _a few yards ahead of me, a cocky grin on his face. His hair was disheveled, his cheeks flushed, and the cold air had turned his nose and ears red. His steps bent back the tall grass, sending sprays of dew flying up around his legs._

_ I panted, glaring forward at him. I had managed to borrow clothes of my brother's to run in—he was small enough that, despite the six year age difference, I could fit into his clothing—and James and I had gone out early in the morning to save me from the judgmental stares of those who thought my choice of dress was too improper._

_ I sped up, my bare feet propelling me forward, sliding against the wet grass. My toes were numb, and I was shaking from cold and exhaustion. The sky was becoming lighter, the shadows around us becoming less pronounced. James grinned and turned around, shooting forward. At the same moment, my foot landed in a small hole. My ankle bent, twisting sharply to the side, and I yelped as I fell, rolling to a stop a few yards away. I curled into a ball, my cheek rubbing against the soaked vegetation that cradled my body. I gripped my ankle with both hands and clenched my teeth together, holding my breath. Tears squeezed out of my closed eyes. The pain was so bad that I could barely think. _

_ "Katie?"_

_ James appeared over me a few moments later, his smile gone. He was breathing heavily, his breath warm on my face. One hand was on my shoulder, the other on my knee._

_ "Katie, what's wrong?"_

_ I shook my head._

_ "Katherine Rogers, answer me right now."_

_ He was rarely this serious. He never used my full name, not unless he was joking with me—or very angry or worried. I managed to open my eyes, letting out the breath I had been holding. A sob came with it._

_ "My ankle… I think it's broken."_

_ His hands pulled mine away to look at it, and he took a sharp intake of breath. "Okay. Well, it doesn't look good, and I'm no doctor, but I think we need to get you home. Your neighbor's a doctor, right?"_

_ "He died three years ago," I bit out, gripping his forearm tightly as he tried to help me to sit up._

_ "Well then, I'll find a doctor. You just sit tight and let me help you." He knelt down in the grass beside me, soaking his trousers. "Put your arms around my neck."_

_ Normally I would have protested, but I was in so much pain that I complied immediately, holding onto his shoulders and biting back another sob as a burst of pain flared up from my foot. James began moving at a semi-brisk pace, heading for the apartment. My ankle kept bumping into his side, and each time my grip on his shoulders would grow tighter._

_ He talked to distract me, which only partially worked, as I was too busy trying to keep from crying to listen to him. Then he said something that made my heart leap up into my throat. "So…" he turned his head to look down at me. My ankle was starting to grow numb, whether from cold or something else I wasn't sure. Most of me was numb at this point. "I joined the army."_

_ I completely forgot about my ankle as I almost fell out of his arms. I could have sworn that my heart stopped beating for a few seconds as I tried to process what he had just said. He glanced up and away from me. His trademark grin, the one that made so many girls weak at the knees, was gone, and his blue eyes were empty and sad._

_ "What?" I managed to squeak. Pearl Harbor had been bombed a few months ago on my sixteenth birthday. The ranks of the U.S. army had swelled immediately, but James hadn't signed up, although he hadn't explained why. Steve had tried to enlist, but had been rejected several times on account of his… physical maladies. James, though… he had joined__? Why?_

_ He nodded, a bitter look crossing his face and marring his features for a split second before he smoothed them out again. "I leave in a month for boot camp," he murmured. "They want us to have all the training possible before sending us over."_

_ "But…" I couldn't think of anything to say. James started up the steps, cradling me as though I weighed nothing. He couldn't be leaving. If he went… he could be hurt. He was my friend, my brother's best friend. If I was completely honest, I had had a crush on him for a long time. I didn't want him to leave… ever._

_ He interrupted my thoughts, his voice sharper than normal as he stopped moving, gazing down at me with bright eyes. "You can't tell Steve."_

_ I tilted my head and frowned at him. "You can't be serious. He should know."_

_ "And I'll be the one to tell him."_

_ Before I had a chance to say anything else, my ankle hit the railing, and I yelped, almost leaping out of James's arms. He began apologizing profusely, holding me closer to him as he slowed down, making his way carefully up the steps and to my apartment. _

_ Steve met us at the door, throwing it open as soon as we reached the top of the staircase. He gestured to James, guiding him inside and asking me if I was alright, what was wrong, what could he do to help… and I barely heard him. James set me down on the couch, answering Steve's questions as I gazed straight ahead. James was leaving. He was going off to war. A bolt of fear stronger than anything I had ever felt shot through me, and I clenched my fists to tightly that my nails dug into my palms, leaving little red indentions there. He could die there._

That was when I knew I loved him. The moment I realized that he might die, that he might be killed in battle. I had had a crush on him for a long time before then, but it was then that I realized that I couldn't live without him, that I would be broken if he died.

I groaned and covered my face with my hands, my fingers tracing over the fading scars on my temples from where the machine had wiped my memory. For the briefest moment I wondered if I would ever be the same, and a second later the thought was obliterated.

Of course not.

Steve wouldn't listen to me—that was a first. He wouldn't even hear me out when I tried to help him. I myself had become an entirely different person over the years, even if I didn't remember all that had happened. James… my heart clenched. I'd never see him again. And the last memory I had of him was his terrified eyes locking on mine as he screamed, falling to his death.

My breath hitched, and I rolled over onto my hands and knees. It wasn't fair. It should have been me. He should have left me, jumped to Steve first. The rail might have held my weight alone, or it might not have—either way, a lot would have been better.

James would have talked Steve out of taking that plane. Steve would have gotten married to Peggy or to some other woman who loved him, whom he loved, and he would have grown old with her. James… he would have moved on and lived his life without me. They both would have grieved, but then they would have moved on.

And me?

I let out a broken laugh, my fingernails digging into the track beneath me. Best-case scenario, I would have died. Worst-case scenario, I would've woken up a few years ago after being found in the ice like my brother had been. I would've been alone and frightened, sad at the loss of my family, but… but I would have been free. I'd have been free from pain, free from… from everything. I would have escaped HYDRA's torture. I wouldn't have become their weapon. I wouldn't have been experimented on, tortured—torn apart and then thrown back together again. I was like a porcelain doll, one that had shattered and then been glued back together and then dropped again. Only now that someone was trying to fix me… There were just too many pieces missing for me to be whole.

I sighed again as I pushed myself to my feet, stumbling slightly as the toe of my shoe caught on the ground. I didn't know what to do. So much had changed since my time. Even if it hadn't, even if everything was exactly the same, I still wouldn't fit. I was an assassin, a murderer. I had two personalities living inside my head—Bruce planned on running some tests to see if the Angel was at all related to the Hulk, since both seemed to have stemmed from a failed version of the Super Soldier Serum. I didn't fit anymore.

I started jogging once more, planning to make two more laps before calling it a day. My muscles weren't burning like they had the first few times I had gone out and run, which I saw as a good thing: the less pain, the better. But it confused me at the same time. Any normal person, after being tortured and starved for a month, spending a week in a coma, going into cardiac arrest, nearly bleeding out from a knife wound, and being possessed by their second, evil personality, would have been absolutely exhausted in every way possible, especially after only spending a few weeks in recovery.

So why was I doing this well?

My muscles were developing once more, and my bones were nowhere near as prominently visible as they had been before. It had been less than a month since my rescue. Any normal person would have spent a good year recovering from cardiac arrest. I was up and moving two days later.

A horrible realization struck me, and I skidded to a stop. My heart was pounding in my chest, thumping hard against my ribs, and my body went numb as I began to shake. It couldn't be possible. Surely they hadn't… how could they have known?

I started sprinting for the door, my arms pumping at my sides. I had to find Bruce. He had to help me, disprove my doubts. This couldn't be happening to me. At the last second, the door opened, and I lurched to the side to avoid contact with the figure there, slamming into the padded wall and rebounding onto the floor instead.

"Katie, are you alright?"

Natasha stood in the doorway, her eyebrow raised at me. She was dressed in tight shorts and a top that showed part of her waist, including a puckered scar on her side, one of the only places where one can be shot—in the chest and abdominal area, at least—and survive. I scrambled ungracefully to my feet, panting.

"Natasha—" I took a deep breath, my panic rising as I realized that it was getting easier and easier to catch my breath after losing it, almost as if I couldn't get winded. "Where's Bruce?"

She frowned at me, taking in my disheveled appearance. "He's upstairs in the lab." She moved closer. "Are you sure you're alright?"

As I went to nod, a horrible thought struck me. "Where did you get that scar?" I blurted.

Her gaze darkened immediately, and she moved her hand to rest on her hip, covering it from view. She gave me a wary look, taking in my panicked appearance, and then answered. "A few years ago on a mission. An enemy combatant shot his target through me."

"Who?" My heart began to beat faster, my blood roaring in my ears. I didn't understand why I was so afraid, so worried. "Who was the enemy sniper?"

"This is confidential information, Katie," she tried, but I cut her off.

"So am I. Please, Natasha."

She gave me a searching look and then shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you now, but maybe some other time. For now, though, I came to tell you that your brother and I are going on a recon mission in a few hours. We'll be back later. I'm sorry he couldn't see you in person."

I shook my head and lurched past her, darting towards the elevator. My mind was a jumbled mess—hundreds of fragmented pieces of information were whirring round there, but I couldn't make sense of any of them. I felt like I was missing some crucial part of the puzzle, and I knew that I had it, I just couldn't remember it, and… I slammed my palm against the button that would take the elevator to Bruce's lab.

"Jarvis?" I called out, my voice high and wavering.

"Miss, are you well? You vitals are—"

"No, I'm not fine, take me to Bruce as quickly as possible. Something's wrong!"

The elevator began to move more quickly than it ever had, stopping in front of the correct floor in seconds. As I staggered out, whipping my head around for a glimpse of the doctor, I heard the automated voice call after me. "I'll let him know you're coming, shall I?"

A few moments later, Bruce poked his head around the corner of a doorway. He frowned, taking in my frantic appearance, and he stepped back as I sped through the doors, almost colliding with one of the tables.

"Are you—" he started.

"No, I'm not alright—" I stopped moving and almost started crying. I wasn't out of breath. Not even a little bit. "Bruce, I need you to run some tests on me _right now_."

He frowned and moved closer, eyeing the scars that weren't covered by my clothing. "Is something wrong? Did one of your injuries—"

"I'm healing too quickly. Bruce, I'm not even out of breath, I…" I took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to function. It was only now that my breath began to seize up, and it was more from panic than from exercise. Understanding crossed the doctor's face and he nodded, motioning me towards a chair as he moved to gather up his supplies.

"What all is wrong?" he asked, sliding on a pair of latex gloves. "Or… isn't wrong, I guess."

"I'm not getting tired. I'm not out of breath, I'm healing too quickly—I heard Pepper and Tony talking about it, any normal person who experienced cardiac arrest would be down for a year, and I was walking around days later. Bruce…" I swallowed. "I think they injected me with the Infinity Formula."

He shook his head, frowning. "No, that's not possible." He gestured towards the stack of notes he had taken from the safe house after healing Eli and I a few months ago. "These are Howard Stark's private notes that he had when he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., and Tony gave them all to me. There shouldn't be any other copies."

"It _is _possible," I pressed, wincing as he took blood from my arm. "I wouldn't be alive, much less walking around, if it weren't."

He bandaged my arm and got to work on the tests, frowning. "I'm sure there's another explanation."

"You gave me the anti-serum, Bruce. You know that I should have started to age, to heal slower. It's been months, Bruce. I shouldn't be healing this quickly. Something's wrong, you know it."

He sighed, running a hand through his short hair, and then said the words I had been dreading. "You're right. There's just no explanation for why you've started healing again."

I gave him a sharp look even as I slumped back, dazed. "Bruce, you are one of the most brilliant men in the world. Don't tell me you've lost your touch."

He glanced up at me over the lenses of his glasses. "Excuse me?"

"If HYDRA had Howard's private notes—and it was HYDRA who did this to me, unless you have something to admit that you haven't shared already—it means that there is at least one member of HYDRA hidden within S.H.I.E.L.D. And I know from experience that if there's one, there are hundreds." A memory tickled the back of my thoughts, but I couldn't reach it. "Something is about to happen," I murmured.

I glanced over at Bruce. "I need to get to Steve."

"He's in Washington," Natasha strode into the room, crossing her arms. She had donned a light jacket since I last saw her, covering the scar on her side. "I'm picking him up in the morning. What do you need him to know?"

Our gazes locked, and for a few moments we stared into each other's eyes, unblinking. I was the one to speak. "It's classified," I said softly, my eyes narrowing.

Bruce glanced up at me worriedly. "Katie—"

"She won't tell me what I _need_ to know, I won't tell her what she _wants_ to know." I turned back to Bruce. "I could be wrong," I murmured. "And until I know I'm right, I need to be careful. Anyone could be the rat. I can't trust spies to keep my secrets, they have too many of their own."

He nodded hesitantly and then went back to his work, and when I turned back around to face Natasha, she was gone. I sighed and sat back in the chair, pressing my forehead into my hands.

I made my decision. I wasn't going to leave my brother behind to fight off HYDRA on his own. I needed to have his back. And I needed to be sure that he was safe. Even if HYDRA wasn't responsible for all this… someone was: someone who was my enemy. And most of my enemies tended to want my brother dead. "Bruce?" I murmured. My voice was muffled in my hands.

He hummed in response, not bothering to glance up at me.

"I'm going to Washington tomorrow."


	30. Chapter 30

Bruce blinked in surprise. "You what?"

I was already walking towards the door. "If I'm right, S.H.I.E.L.D. needs to be warned about what's going on."

"And if you're wrong, you'll have just put yourself in enemy territory for no reason." Bruce scrambled up from his desk, only tripping once over his chair as he made his way over to me.

I turned to face him, still inching towards the door. "It's worth the risk."

"Losing your life over a hunch is _not_ worth it!" Bruce stood up, frowning at me, clearly troubled. I stopped moving, my hands moving to rest on my hips.

My patience, already thinned, was stretched to its limit. "My brother's life is!" I snapped. "If I'm right, he's in danger. He will die, Bruce. HYDRA will kill him. I'm not going to sit back and let that happen." I took a deep breath and started moving again. "You can't stop me."

Before I made it to the door, my body made contact with a very solid chest, and I stumbled back, startled. Clint was standing in the doorway, his arms held loosely at his side. "So after all this time, it turns out that S.H.I.E.L.D. is the bad guy." He sighed, looking thoroughly ticked off. "Terrific."

"You can't stop me, Clint," I frowned, ready to push past him.

He gave me an irritated look. "I can and will," he countered sharply, lifting an eyebrow. "I think you're forgetting who you're dealing with."

I sighed, grinding my teeth. I did not have time for this. "Yes, I know. You are one of the most legendary and deadly assassins of the twenty-first century, feared by all. I get it." I stepped closer, and my voice dropped to a dangerous level. "I am a ghost story. I have been killing and fighting for longer than you've been alive. _So get out of my way_."

Clint gave me a searching look. "I didn't think you were proud of that," he replied softly.

He might as well have slapped me. I took a step back, my eyes widening, and then crossed my arms over my chest, my left hand gently rubbing my scarred arm. It took me a good minute to figure out what to say, during which time the two men did nothing but stare me down. I had no idea how Clint was able to disarm me so quickly; all I knew was that the fight suddenly drained out of me, and I felt all eighty-eight of my years.

"I'm not," I murmured, looking him straight in the eye. "But you don't know what I've been through, Clint. I can't lose my brother again, especially not to HYDRA. I won't let them break me again. I have to do this."

He nodded, glancing at the ground and then back up at me. "You need more training before you go waltzing into the Triskelion," he announced briskly, turning on his heel and moving towards the door. "Follow me."

"I have to go," I called after him, following him nonetheless. As much as I was loath to admit it, he was right. I did need more training.

"You're not going anywhere until you can hold your own against me," Clint barked, stepping into the elevator. "Once you've been built back up to your full strength, then you can go. Until I know you can hold your own against the agents of HYDRA, I'm not letting you out of this tower."

We rode in silence for a few minutes, and I marveled at the fact that Clint was able to make me change my mind—or at least slow my decision making process—so quickly. Maybe it was because felt that I owed him. And maybe it was because I didn't want him to lose anyone else so soon after the death of his brother.

*'+'*'+'*

I had expected agents to be better as concealing their emotions. Truly, I was amazed that the organization had survived as long as it had, especially if all the spies and agents were as shoddy actors as these were.

I strode through the entryway of the Triskelion, making my way straight for the elevator. Bruce had managed to stall my crusade by almost two days, claiming that he needed to run more tests before I left. It hadn't helped that Tony had gotten wind of what was happening and had locked down the tower, making sure I couldn't go anywhere. It was only this morning that Bruce had declared me fit enough to leave, and Tony had sent me in his plane to be dropped off at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters, letting me avoid the Smithsonian Museums.

That reminded me: any "top secret" organization that had its headquarters in the middle of a city and had its logo printed on _literally everything _should not be feared as much as it was. Those people were idiots, I was convinced.

Not to mention the fact that I, Katherine Rogers, America's Angel, Angel of Death, Scourge of S.H.I.E.L.D., had just walked unhindered through the front doors. Someone needed to work on the security.

Most of those whom I passed continued by without giving me a second glance. They likely were used to seeing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents walking around the building. A few agents I passed looked nervous, others curious. I knew I had that sort of effect on people, especially if I wasn't smiling. A few looked angry, some frightened frightened… and, most worryingly, more than one had a wicked gleam in their eyes when they caught sight of me. I did my best to take the long way around those. I had no weapons with me, unfortunately—as easy as it was to enter the Triskelion, I doubted that I would have been able to sneak a dozen knives inside—not after the mishap from a few weeks prior. My wrist stung at the reminder. Despite this, I was pretty confident I could handle myself, especially since Clint had managed to unlock my inhuman strength I normally could only access as the Angel. That was a plus, although now I was incredibly worried about the Gifted Index, though I knew I had other things to worry about.

I was headed straight for the office of Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I would have preferred to speak to Phil Coulson, a man who was highly recommended by every man and woman who had entered or exited the Stark Tower, but he had been assumed dead by most of the members of S.H.I.E.L.D. and was thus unavailable. I was considering speaking to the Director about setting up a meeting with the Agent—apparently the man had been killed by another Asgardian hours before the battle of New York. He wasn't dead, though, and I wanted to know why, wanted to know if it had any connection to my own experience.

I stepped into the elevator, clasping my hands in front of me and standing with my legs slightly apart, my chin held high. I was clad in all black, and every scar I possessed, besides those on my face and neck, were covered. Tony had given me strict instructions regarding this meeting.

_"No one is going to trust someone covered in scars, especially if they're as young as you appear to be," he warned over the phone. "Cover all the scars you can. Wear all black—Pepper can help you with clothing. Make sure to wear lots of leather, too; most agents tend to wear that on their missions for some reason. Wear gloves as well. Act like you belong, and they'll believe it. Done any acting?"_

_ I gave him a look._

_ He nodded and reached for something out of frame. "Stupid question. I've done some digging on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files on you."_

_ "What did you find?" I asked, curious. The data S.H.I.E.L.D. had on me is what Steve would have been given had I not gotten to him first and returned his memory. I needed to know whether I'd have been seen as a threat or as an innocent._

_ "Two separate files," he answered. "One on you, Katherine Rogers, and one on the Angel of Death. Apparently they've got you down as two separate entities… but what they do have is pretty recent. Katie's file was retired in the forties, although it looks like more than a few people have searched for it lately. I'll save that list for later." He was silent for a few moments, his eyes moving quickly as he scanned the files in front of him. "Yeah, definitely cover up your scars. Apparently your HYDRA self didn't care for sleeves; your scars are pretty noticeable, especially the one on your arm."_

_ I rubbed my scarred arm absently as I nodded, troubled. "I don't have wings anymore. Wouldn't that throw off any HYDRA agents around?"_

_ "Nope." Tony had been the only one besides Bruce and Clint that I had told about my suspicions about HYDRA. He had agreed not to mention anything about it until I was sure, and so for now we were searching for evidence regarding HYDRA's whereabouts within S.H.I.E.L.D. "If HYDRA's really within S.H.I.E.L.D., you can bet that they know exactly what your physical state is as well as what your real identity is."_

_ I nodded, frowning at the screen in front of me. Tony frowned at me, his image totally clear. "Katie. You know that once you go in there, there's likely no going back, right? Anyone who knows about your brother likely knows about you, and if they know you're alive…"_

_ "I've got to risk it," I told him softly. "There's a lot on the line here."_

_ He nodded solemnly. "I gotcha. Fury's office is on the 32__nd__ floor."_

The doors slid shut, and the elevator began to rise, moving swiftly towards my floor. I took a deep breath. This was the man who had attacked me two decades before on a whim. This was the man whom I had blinded in one eye. I shifted uncomfortably. Even though my actions had been solely in self-defense, I didn't feel any better. I knew what it was like to lose something as major as an eye. I was too preoccupied to bother enjoying the view from the glass elevators. I felt incredibly anxious. What was I even _doing _here? This was enemy territory. Scratch that: this was _doubly _enemy territory. Neither S.H.I.E.L.D. nor HYRDA was my friend—Steve was the only reason I was here.

The elevator ride was silent, and the _ding _when the door opened was jarring in comparison. I stepped out and began making my way down the hall, glancing at the engraved plaques adorning each door. Fury's was at the end of the hall, and I didn't bother knocking before opening the door. The man was standing in the center of the room, his eye fixed on me. _Eye._ His left eye, the one I had torn at so many years before, was covered by a black eye patch, and dark scars spread out from beneath it. He nodded at me as I entered and gestured for me to close the door.

I closed it without looking behind me, not wanting to turn my back on him for a moment.

He spread his arms slightly as he spoke, and I couldn't track the emotion in his voice. He sounded sarcastic and patronizing, much like he had when I last saw him. Actually, he looked incredibly similar to what he had looked like twenty years before. If it hadn't been for his eye-patch and a few wrinkles, I would have argued that he hadn't aged a day. "Welcome. I was wondering when you'd visit me."

He remained where he was, but I moved closer until I stood less than ten feet from him. He had at least two firearms on his person that I could make out beneath his clothing, and there was no telling how many more were tucked within the dark trench coat he wore.

"I tend to stay away from people who've shot me," I replied smoothly, tilting my head. I wondered whether he knew who I really was. He hadn't mentioned my real name when he had confronted me twenty years ago, but that didn't mean that he hadn't figured it out since then.

"And yet here you are," he pointed out. He lifted his arms a bit and then let them fall. "I'm not one to beat around the bush, Miss. So tell me: why are you here?"

He hadn't used my name, which meant that he either was protecting my identity, he didn't know who I really was, or he was setting a trap for "HYDRA's secret weapon". Either way, I hoped that he would heed my warning. "I believe that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised," I told him, lowering my voice a bit.

His expression went slack for a moment, and his gaze darted to the corners of the room before he moved closer, his hand slipping into his pocket.

"I believe you're mistaken, Miss."

He pulled out a small tablet, typed on it, and then showed it to me. The words made my blood run cold. _'I know.'_

I glanced up into his eye, but he nodded back at the tablet. "I am in charge of handpicking each Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D."

_'There are traitors here.'_

"And I do not believe that a single one of them would betray this organization."

_'Be careful what you say, Ms. Rogers.'_

So he did know who I was. I glanced back up at him. He shook his head slightly before tucking the device out of sight. "So you do know me."

He nodded and crossed to his desk. "I do. I spoke with Agent Carter not long after the last time we encountered one another. She told me of your… _unique _position and advised me on how to handle future run-ins. I apologize for my behavior last time."

I inclined my head to him. "As do I." I glanced towards his desk. "Do you have it?"

He lifted his eyebrow. "Do I have what?"

"The last time we spoke, you stole something of mine." My gaze hardened. "I want it back."

He nodded and removed a small box from his desk. He held it in the palm of his hand and then looked at me. "Is this the only reason you came?"

"You know it's not," I replied softly. "But you and I both know that if you withhold it from me, it will be the reason you do not step foot from this building ever again."

He nodded, giving me a look akin to respect, and then tossed the box to me. My heart leapt into my through, and caught it easily, cradling it close to my chest. My heart swelled. Without looking away from the director, I opened the box. My hands were shaking. This had to be it.

I glanced down. It was there. This was it. A relieved smile broke over my face, and my shoulders relaxed. I pulled the engagement ring out slowly, the familiar metal cool against my fingers. Within seconds it was back on my ring finger where it belonged, and the purity ring had shifted positions to my right hand.

I held out the box to him, but he shook his head and motioned for me to keep it. "Was there anything else you needed to tell me?" he asked.

I gave him a hard look. "Keep my brother safe," I murmured. "Please."

He nodded. "Will do."

I turned to leave, and Fury called out to me once more. "There actually is something I'm going to ask you, since you're here."

I paused and glanced back at him. "And what's that?"

"I wanted to know whether you're on our side."

"Our side?" I repeated dully, watching his reaction.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s side," he amended.

"I think you know the answer, Director Fury," I replied icily. "If you truly know my story, you know that I am on no side but my own."

"That makes you an enemy," he began coldly.

I shook my head. "It makes me an ally," I corrected, giving him a hard look. "You know who my enemy is, Director, and so long as S.H.I.E.L.D. remains separate from them, I will fight alongside you. The instant the two become blurred, even slightly, S.H.I.E.L.D. becomes my enemy." I paused for a moment. "You don't want me as an enemy, sir."

He nodded. Once again, a look bordering on respect flashed in his good eye. "I understand fully. And I have something for you."

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "And what is that?"

"I can't do anything about what you mentioned to me." He paused and then corrected himself. "Well, not as much as I would like. Contrary to popular belief, I am not the highest ranking member of S.H.I.E.L.D."

I blinked, frowning slightly. "Who is?"

"Secretary Alexander Pierce," he replied.

At the sound of the name, a sharp buzzing sound filled my ears. I stepped back, my footing suddenly unstable. Black spots danced before my eyes, and I fell to my knees, grasping my head in my hands. A sharp pain stabbed at my mind, and I gritted my teeth against it, trying to fight it off. A mixed, rising feeling of panic and loathing grew within me, something I didn't understand. One thing I knew, though, was that the Angel wasn't in control. I was. And the fact that I and not the Angel felt this way… it frightened me badly.

"Agent. Miss, can you hear me?" Fury's voice sounded muffled and garbled as though I was hearing from underwater, and I couldn't process what he was saying, though dimly I realized that he was still protecting my identity.

"I have to get out of here," I managed to gasp out, my fingernails digging into my temples. My hands were shaking, and the achingly familiar _fight or flight _feeling was surging within me. "Something's—"

"Katie?" My brother's voice cut me off. It I hadn't been so disoriented, I would have started swearing. He was the last person I needed right now. I'd seen him once in the past month. He didn't realize how poorly I was doing, mentally wise; I knew what this little episode of mine meant: the more horrible and important the memory, or memories, the worse the reaction. Somehow, the name 'Pierce'—another shudder ran through me at the thought—was connected to something I had lost.

"Rogers—"

"What is she doing here?" His voice was rising. The memory was beginning to fade away, breaking apart at the interruption.

"Shut up!" I managed to scream. This had happened twice before: someone had interrupted me, tried to get me to snap out of the fit—and the memory had been lost. It had reappeared once more several days later but had been smothered again; I didn't know whether it would come back. I didn't even know what it was—

Oh. It was this one. The name—I didn't have a face, but the _name _was so familiar…

_"The asset has been prepped, sir." _

_ "That's good." A young man eyed me, taking in my defensive stance and wicked snarl. He couldn't have been a day older than twenty. "She doesn't seem to like this very much."_

_ A few men chuckled, and I growled, lurching against my restraints. I would not be taken in this easily. The unfamiliar weight of my new wings pulled me back as I tried to leap forward and gut the man before me._

_ "Mr. Pierce. He's ready for you."_

_ The man glanced around and nodded, and a moment later I was jerked back and shoved back into an iron container. The door slammed shut, and ice began to cover the walls. I was freezing. I kicked against the door, but it didn't budge. The man's face appeared in the window, but it frosted over, revealing my terrified reflection. A moment later, my world went black._


	31. Chapter 31

The pain was gone. I opened my eyes. Steve was crouched in front of me, his mouth moving quickly. I couldn't hear what he was saying over the buzzing in my ears. A few moments later, though, his words began to make sense.

"—Tony? Can you hear me?"

As soon as I was able to comprehend what he was saying, a wave of anger surged through me, and I pushed him away. He disappeared for weeks at a time, walked out on me when I needed him most, and then just _appears_ and acts concerned about my wellbeing? If he cared, he'd have checked on me long before now. I rose to my feet, glaring at him, even as guilt bubbled in my chest. I didn't mean it, not really. I just missed my brother. "What are you doing here?"

"Debrief," he snapped. I could see the worry in his gaze buried within the rage. "What are you doing here?"

I glanced over at Fury, who shook his head slightly. "Visiting an old friend," I lied smoothly. Leaving Steve out of this was for the best. If he found out that there was even the smallest possibility that HYDRA was still around, that it had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D... "I didn't expect you to—"

"What was that?" He pointed irritably towards the ground where I had just been cowering, trapped inside my own head. "What's wrong with you?"

"If you hadn't been ignoring me the last month, you'd know," I snapped, my lips pulling back in a snarl. These days, my temper was almost always ready to blow, and I was not in the mood to have this conversation. The only person who hadn't experienced a full on fit in the last month was Clint, and it was because of my growing respect for him as an authority figure and because of the guilt I felt over being unable to save his brother. Steve, my brother whom I did love more than anyone else but who had decided to be a jackass all of a sudden, had not scored any brownie points with me anytime in the last few weeks. If anything, he had lost them. Besides, his yelling had disrupted my memories. I couldn't remember the face of the man I'd seen. "Director Fury, may I speak with Secretary Pierce regarding the information I discovered?"

The name sent cold shivers up my spine, and I felt the hair rise on my unscarred arm and neck. Fury nodded and led me out, not bothering to ask Steve to wait for him in the office. My brother followed us, walking right behind me; I could feel his hard gaze on my back. To his credit, the Director didn't bother to make me sit down or rest. He seemed to be under the impression that I knew my own limits and that if I was in danger of passing out or going into shock, I would let someone know. This was far from the truth, but I let him believe it for now.

Fury led my brother and I back to the elevator. "Pierce is on the top floor," he informed us as we stepped in, me on one side of him, Steve on the other. The ride was spent in tense silence. Steve tried to break it once, but a furious glare from me cut him off. He had kept me from remembering something very important. And although I couldn't be angry with him for long, I could be angry with him for now. I sighed irritably, blowing air out my nose. And for something like this? It might take a while for me to forgive him.

The Director cleared his throat, and I glanced over at him. Fury was giving me a sharp look with his good eye. "I feel the need to remind you, Agent Coulson, that you are to report back to your TAC team immediately following this meeting. Your S.O. told me that under no uncertain terms were you to be late. You're to meet in the lobby at Thirteen Hundred hours. Understand?"

I nodded, straightening, and memorized the information he had just given me. Tony had mentioned that he was coming up with a plan to make me seem less suspicious, including a name, a backstory, and, most importantly, an escape route. This, apparently, was it. "Yes, sir."

I glanced at my watch. I had twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to deliver my message, hope that it was well received, and pray that the Secretary had nothing to do with the nauseating terror that was building in my stomach.

The doors opened with a _ding_,and the three of us stepped off the elevator. A secretary sat at her desk, watching us over the lenses of her glasses. Fury stepped up, motioning for Steve and I to wait behind.

"Agent Coulson and I need to speak to Secretary Pierce," he informed her stiffly, jerking his head towards me. "Captain Rogers will wait outside until we are finished." She nodded, not saying a word, and motioned the two of us in. I avoided my brother's gaze, although I could feel him burning a hole in the side of my head. I noticed with a twinge of annoyance that the secretary was eyeing Steve rather closely, but I couldn't retaliate without giving away the fact that he was my brother. As I passed her, she shot me a jealous look.

Director Fury led me inside Secretary Pierce's office, closing the door smartly behind me and keeping Steve from storming on inside. As the Director made his way back over to me, I looked around the spacious office. The large room was cut in half by a wall, in front of which was a glass screen almost as wide and tall as the room was. One wall was made entirely of glass and looked out over the city and the river, both of which were glinting in the midday sun. The man I had come to see was standing across the room, his back to us, gazing out the window.

Fury cleared his throat, and the man turned around. The sight of his face triggered something deep inside me, and for a moment, the Angel reared her head. I dug my fingernails deep into my palms, taking a deep breath. The decades old 'fight or flight?' response was pulling at me, made null by the fact that flight was no longer possible. I bit my cheek to keep from outright asking the man if he had anything to do with the late Katherine Rogers' disappearance. I didn't understand why this man was bothering me so much, but I had a hunch. Steve had prevented me—twice now, actually—from discovering the identity of the man in my memory. It was an old one; it had to be, if my wings had been new. But the fact that it had been triggered by Pierce's name couldn't be a coincidence.

His eyes lighted on Fury first, and he grinned, moving to shake his friend's hand. The two exchanged friendly banter, and I shifted my weight from foot to foot, wondering if I had made a terrible, terrible mistake. Before I could decide whether or not I needed to forfeit the mission and call my Super-Soldier brother in here to get me out, Secretary Pierce turned to me. His expression was pleasant, if a bit confused, revealing nothing, but his eyes betrayed them. They were like chips of ice, glittering like a snake's.

I could have kicked myself. I was a fool. What the hell was I thinking? I must be growing soft to come in here and _completely ignore the instincts telling me that this man is evil_. Suddenly all my planning seemed completely worthless, as week and see-through as tissue paper.

The instant his eyes met mine, the fog surrounding the memory dissolved. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that this man was the same man who had tortured me as a child—because that is what I had been, after all, especially compared to my age now. A child. But he was connected to something worse, wasn't he? Something much darker, much more sinister. I had seen him more recently.

_'Ms. Rogers.'_

"Who is this?" he asked.

_'I swear to God, if you try to escape again, I will put a bullet through his head.'_

I frantically tried to remember the name Tony and Director Fury had assigned me a few moments ago, fighting to hold onto my memories and composure at the same time. Luckily for me, Directors apparently introduced their Agents, so I just had to sit back and wait for my introduction, a schooled look of respect and calm on my face as I inwardly fought to remember what was wrong, what was going on. Who was the 'he' the man was referring to?

_'No you won't.'_

_ 'Do you want to test that theory?'_

My insides seethed with hatred so great I thought I might explode.

_'No—'_

"Secretary Pierce, this is Agent Olivia Coulson," Fury answered.

_'No, please—'_

_'No, what?'_

I noticed, dimly amused, that the name I had been given sounded an awful lot like _Phil Coulson_, and I wondered if Tony had come up with the name on purpose or by accident. Phil Coulson was said by some to be the strongest and bravest of them all. If I was being named after him, I would live up to the name.

_'Don't kill him. Please, don't kill him.'_

I gave the Secretary a grim smile as I held out my left hand. Something Eli had taught me before his death was that by making small gestures—a nervous tick, using your non-dominant hand to perform a series of tasks, using modern slang like 'salty' or 'chapped', or even just smiling a lot (or not at all)—that you normally wouldn't use, you can often throw someone off your trail. So for me, using my left hand when Pierce knows full well that the Angel used her right and being respectful and calm when I ought to be tearing him apart, (not to mention being with Director Fury) might cast shadows of doubt on whether I had any idea who I was or, more importantly, who he was. Also, the amount of makeup I was being forced to wear was ridiculous. It wasn't all that much, really, but any makeup was too much makeup for me, even if it was being used to disguise my identity. The thought of makeup reminded me of Eli's last day, back when we were prepping to sneak into the Smithsonian, and it was all I could to keep from breaking Pierce's neck when I realize that he was undoubtedly the one responsible for Eli's murder.

"It is an honor, sir." The words left a bitter taste in my mouth. The nightmarish dialogue continued in my mind, but no images went along with it, and I didn't think I was in danger of collapsing any time soon.

Pierce seemed momentarily thrown by my gesture but quickly took my hand with his left as well. "A pleasure, Agent Coulson," he replied. Not many people were left-handed these days, and he seemed to appreciate the gesture. "Are you at all related to Agent Phil Coulson?"

I nodded, my face a mask, but allowed a glimmer or pain to shine through before hiding it again. I might as well make my act realistic. "Yes, Sir. He's my uncle."

The way I said it, it could have been understood as 'he is my uncle' or 'he was my uncle'. I still was unsure whether or not people were supposed to know that Coulson was alive—Stark was the only one I knew of who knew—and so I left it as vague as I could. Fury, apparently, had spoken to Tony before then—it was Mr. Stark that had suggested giving me a backstory such as this: have a notable Agent take in an amnesiac girl and train her as an agent, tell her that she was the niece of the famous Phil Coulson. A perfect cover story, especially since, according to Stark, Coulson had already agreed to cover for me if questioned.

"I was unaware that Agent Coulson had a niece." _Had. _He glanced up at Fury. At the same moment, the dialogue in my mind, which I had tuned to background noise, changed to ear-piercing screams, and I jumped, my hair lifting as the nearly healed wounds on my back throbbed. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Fury nodded his head towards me and crossed his arms. "Agent Coulson came to me with urgent news. Perhaps it would be best if she shared it. She didn't have a chance to tell everything to me."

The two men looked at me expectantly, and I began speaking, doing my best to hide the tremors in my hands and the pounding of my heart. "Mr. Secretary," I started, fighting to ignore the screams that echoed in my mind, "I have reason to believe that there is a mole in my unit that is leaking classified S.H.I.E.L.D. information to another source."

Pierce blinked, looking momentarily stunned, and anger glinted in his gaze. It was gone a moment later. He opened his mouth to speak, but Fury spoke first.

"Agent Coulson is training to be a part of Strike Team Omega," Fury told Pierce in a low voice. Strike Team Omega apparently was an elite team made up of very skilled agents, one that was sent out to assassinate, spy on, and otherwise disrupt unfriendly parties. According to Tony, both Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were apart of the team, along with one other member whose name I had not been given. He, apparently, was travelling with the real Agent Coulson at the moment, and it did not seem necessary to give me the information, although I was quickly realizing that I might soon be needing it.

Secretary Pierce looked impressed. "Really?" He gave me a knowing look. "Who is your S.O.?"

"Agent Barton, sir," I replied almost immediately, thinking back to my training session the day before and praying that I hadn't just signed a death warrant for either of us. I felt like kicking myself. I was supposed to meet my S.O. downstairs in a matter of minutes. If Barton was not there, my cover would be blown. My wonderful plan was falling apart like wet toilet paper, at least in my eyes.

Pierce frowned as though thinking. "And are you suggesting that your Supervising Officer is one of those feeding information to an outside source."

I blinked, and the screaming abruptly cut off, much to my relief. I could finally concentrate on the matter at hand. Of course he'd turn this around on Clint. "Sir, I do not know who the mole is. However, I would bet my life that Agent Barton has nothing to do with the spy."

Secretary Pierce gave me a sharp look. "And how do you know that there is a spy, Agent Coulson?" The way he said my faux name made me want to run and hide. He knew. He knew exactly who I was. The question was whether he knew that _I _knew who I was.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, a timer went off. Fury glanced down at his tablet. "Agent Coulson, your S.O. requests that you be in the lobby in two minutes. You're dismissed."

I nodded, "Yes, sir," and then looked at Secretary Pierce while brushing away a strand of hair with my left hand. "I hope you find my information useful."

I turned on my heel and strode out of the room, not stopping until I had reached the elevator. I tapped the button for my desired floor, standing still without fidgeting as I waited for the machine to arrive. Steve followed after me, entering the elevator with me, and stood on my right side as the doors slid closed, not saying a word. As soon as the lift began to move, however, I staggered back against the rear wall of the elevator, holding my throbbing head in my hands.

My brother immediately darted forward, assessing the situation and trying to help me. At the moment, though, I knew there were cameras watching. I needed to be Agent Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D., not Katie Rogers. "What's wrong? Ka—"

"Captain Rogers," I spoke in clipped tones, pushing him away. "Please."

I glanced up at him, my eyes pleading with him to play along, and realization dawned on his face. He stepped back, but offered me a hand. "I'm sorry, ma'am." He pulled me gently to my feet. "Are you alright?"

I nodded wearily, wishing I could hug my brother but knowing that my cover would be totally blown if I did. "I will be, Captain."

"Steve," he automatically replied, offering me his hand to shake. I lifted my eyebrows, wondering if he acted like this with all women he met or whether he was just acting for the cameras.

I took his hand, feeling a wave of relief wash over me when he squeezed mine comfortingly. "Agent Coulson."

He nodded. "Are you sure you are alright, Agent?" He glanced at the wall where I had just been.

I offered him a small smile. "I'll be alright. I had a rough training session this morning, and I think I may have gotten a concussion." Both of those were actually true, although the training session had technically happened last night, and my concussion, according to Bruce, would be healed before I knew it.

Steve nodded, playing along. "Well, I hope your head feels better," he smiled as the doors opened. The anger in his eyes was barely contained, though. I knew the next time we spoke it wouldn't be nearly as civil; right now, he was keeping my cover from being blown, even if he didn't know why.

I managed a small grin back. "Thank you, Steve."

He nodded and walked out, leaving me to follow in his wake. I almost fell over in relief when I spotted Clint standing near the doors. I went to stand beside him, and he glanced at his watch, a small smile on his face. "Right on time." He turned and walked away, motioning for me to follow him. "We have a new assignment." He started talking to me about the technical details until we were safely in the car and driving away. At this point, I sagged against the seat, burying my head in my hands. I stayed that was for a long while, unable to say anything.

Clint sighed, sounding irritated, and spoke up for the first time in almost twenty minutes. "Olivia Coulson?" he muttered.

"I needed a story," I replied softly, rubbing my temples. Clint apparently thought that a good training session wasn't complete without a painful injury: in my case, a concussion. Considering my spotty memory, maybe he should reconsider kicking me in the head so often.

"Phil was a good man," Clint muttered. "A good friend. I ought to shoot Stark for using him as a cover like that."

I looked down at my feet, not knowing what to say. What _do _you say to that? Clint didn't know that Coulson was alive, and I didn't want him to find out like this.

"You know you'll have to come in now?" Clint continued, glancing over at me as we sped towards the airfield. "Pierce is curious, he won't let something like this slide. You'll have to be seen working at and with S.H.I.E.L.D."

I shook my head again, glancing at the tablet in my lap. It seems like Tony had other plans. "Maybe," I replied. "But Stark doesn't seem to think that the Triskelion is the best place for me."

Clint scoffed, steering the car onto the flat concrete expanse of the airfield. A few planes, some smaller than others, were parked here or there. Stark's jet was on the other end of the field. Closest to us was what looked like a freight carrier, and a few men were meandering around it. "And what is?"

I frowned in confusion, reading over Tony's hastily typed words. "What's 'the Bus'?"


	32. Chapter 32

I kept my eye on Clint as we drove up to the largest aircraft. I recognized two of the men standing at the base: one was Tony Stark, who had one hand on the handle of a large suitcase. The other man was tall and kind looking with a receding hairline. Clint let out a strangled gasp, and his grip on the wheel tightened.

"It can't be," he whispered, eyes wide. We pulled up to the side of the plane, and Clint just about tripped over himself in his haste to exit the car. Stark and the other man turned to face us. I recognized the other now: it was Phil Coulson. Clint looked as though he had seen a ghost—which I supposed he had. Clint moved forward until he stood directly before the older agent, not saying a word, just staring at him as though he couldn't believe his eyes. I shut the doors of the car and moved to stand beside Tony, waiting for Clint's reaction.

"Coulson?" Clint's voice nearly broke. "How—?"

The agent shrugged, a small, sad smile on his face. "I don't know."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" Clint sounded absolutely devastated, and I would have felt worse if I hadn't known that this—my knowing that Coulson had been alive this whole time—was going to come back to bite me very soon in the form of a lecture or an extremely thorough training session.

Coulson's eyes darkened for a moment. "Trust the system," he muttered softly, so quietly I doubted anyone else heard. "You know now," he said in a louder voice, squeezing Clint's shoulder. "That's all that matters. It's good to see you again, Clint."

Clint smiled, one of the first genuine smiles I had seen since Eli's death, and the two men clasped hands and then hugged.

When they pulled back, Tony stepped forward. "Ahem. Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I wanted to introduce the newest member of your team. Phil, you remember Olivia. We already discussed her situation."

Coulson nodded and then smiled at me, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course," he replied. "How could I forget my favorite niece?"

Up until this point, I hadn't been sure exactly what Tony had been planning. Now, though, it all made sense. I glanced around at the other men wandering around—some were refueling the plane, some restocking it—and then turned to Tony. "You're sending me away?" I couldn't keep the accusation out of my voice.

Stark gave me a stern look. "For now, yes."

I scowled. I couldn't hold back the resentment that flowed through me. I had just risked my neck to give important information to S.H.I.E.L.D., and for what? Now I was being sent away like an unwanted child. I hated that feeling. I had always hated it. "But—"

"Katie." Clint grabbed me arm and pulled me a few yards away, keeping his voice low enough that no one could hear him over the whistling of the wind. "Stark hacked into the security footage. I saw your flashback and your interaction with Pierce. What happened?"

"Pierce… he knew," I whispered. "About me. He was there when they gave me wings, and…" my blood went cold as my back throbbed. "And he gave the order for them to be cut off."

The color drained from Clint's face. "He what?"

"I think—" I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "I think he gave the order for Eli's murder."

Clint closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I just stood there, miserable and cold, waiting for him to say something. He opened his eyes a few minutes later. "When did you remember this?" he asked softly.

"While I was speaking to him." My voice grew dark, and I clenched my fist so tightly that I heard my knuckles crack. "It was all I could do to keep from tearing his throat out, Clint. I know it was him. I couldn't remember the visuals for the memory, but I'd know his voice anywhere."

The man nodded, looking pained. I couldn't imagine what he must be feeling. I had never trusted S.H.I.E.L.D., but Clint had. He had devoted his life to it, fought for it—and it turned out that S.H.I.E.L.D. was actually HYDRA. Or at least, part of it was. Had been the entire time. And if he didn't want to be crossed out, he had to play along until HYRDA was ready to reveal itself.

"You have to go," he murmured.

A few men started carrying suitcases up the ramp, and I belatedly realized that they were mine. Tony and Coulson shook hands.

"You're in danger here. There's nowhere safer than Coulson's plane right now. I'd trust him with my life."

"And with mine?" I asked softly.

He nodded. "And with yours." He glanced around, sensing that we were almost out of time. "You can't come back. Not until all of this is sorted out, not until HYDRA reveals itself."

"Clint, the instant HYDRA reveals itself, I will be flying back here, wings or no." I was dead serious. If HYDRA revealed itself, it meant that they were ready to take down S.H.I.E.L.D.—and my brother along with it.

Clint pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged him back. "I know. I wouldn't expect anything less. Just stay out of trouble, Katie."

I laughed softly, my eyes stinging. "I'll do my best."

He pulled away but kept a firm grip on my shoulders. Remember, make friends, but don't be too openly trusting." I gave him a look. Had he _met _me? It took me months before I even trusted my brother after finding out that he was still alive. "You're Coulson's niece, so spend time with him, don't call him Mr. Coulson or Agent Coulson or any of that—try and get on his nerves a little—kind of like how you act with Steve. Go by Olivia or Livy or something like that, and don't slip up. Stark changed the records: you're officially on record as Olivia Coulson, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D." He gave me a stern look. "Got it?"

I nodded, giving him a weak smile. "Yes, Sir," I answered, remembering that he was supposed to be my S.O.

"And when you get back, maybe I'll be able to keep training you for Strike Team Omega," he added. "If Ward doesn't finish it first." He laughed suddenly. "Try not to mouth off to him—he won't go as easy on you as I do."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure thing."

He glanced at me. "I wasn't kidding about your training—I really am training you to be apart of your team."

"Thank you, Clint," I whispered, shaking his hand. "For everything." I started to walk away, then stopped. "And tell my brother that I love him, please."

He nodded. "Will do."

Coulson met me at the bottom of the ramp. Tony was getting ready to leave. "No time for sappy goodbyes for me, Miss Olivia," Stark said, already using my alias. He gave me a quick side hug. "See you around, fight hard—not too hard, your brother would kill me—and try and cause as much chaos as possible."

Without another word, he hopped off the edge of the ramp and got into the car with Clint, who apparently was giving him a lift to the other side of the airstrip. It was just Coulson and I now, and I gave him a nervous smile.

He answered it. "A pleasure to see you again, Olivia." He glanced up the ramp. "If you'd follow me, I need to check a few things before we take off."

I scurried after him as the ramp moved to close. One worker bent over to examine the hood of a small, vintage red car, and Coulson, without breaking stride, snapped out, "Don't touch Lola."

The man jerked back and continued on his way.

"Olivia!"

I hurried after him, climbing the winding stairs up to the next deck. I couldn't believe what all had happened today. I had only planned on going to the Triskelion and warning Fury about HYDRA. Instead, I had gotten my engagement ring back—I rubbed it through my glove, a warm feeling in my chest—, had completely forgotten to mention HYDRA's name to Fury, remembered that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s second-in-command was a psychopathic monster, and been sent away with my faux-uncle to stay protected from the afore-mentioned psychopathic monster. My head began to ache. It wasn't even three in the afternoon yet.

I emerged onto the second floor, and my mouth almost fell open. It was like a house. There were several couches in the middle of the room, and behind me, there were cubbies where I assumed that people lived. Only one was open, and I could see an unmade bed resting against the wall. Coulson led me around and into a private room I assumed was his office. He shut the door and moved to sit behind his desk while I examined the knick-knacks glued to the shelves all around the room. Most of them were from the 1940s.

Coulson cleared his throat, and I turned my attention to him. "Please, take a seat." I did so without arguing, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot with him. He looked exhausted. "Mr. Stark gave me a short briefing of why you were here and who you are pretending to be," he gave me a searching look. "However, he did not tell me who you were or what you were running from. Care to share?"

I glanced around. "Can anyone else hear me?" I asked him softly.

His eyebrows rose. "No. I designed and searched the room myself; there are no bugs here."

I nodded, my mouth going dry again. "My name is Katherine Rogers," I told him softly, watching his expression morph into one of surprise and, to my amusement, elation. "My brother is Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America." I gave him a brief rundown of the experimentation I had undergone, explaining my youth and agility despite my old age. "And I am here because I am running from HYDRA."

Coulson's excited expression faded a bit at the mention of the organization. "HYDRA doesn't exist anymore, Katherine."

I shrugged, unwilling to tell him the whole truth. "Maybe, maybe not." I turned and shrugged off the jacket I had been wearing all day, revealing the deep, angry red scars that covered my back. "I would argue that they're still out there, though."

Coulson swore and rose to his feet. "What the hell?"

I pulled the jacket back on and resumed my seat, and the agent did as well, watching me carefully. A pitying look crossed his face, and I frowned. I didn't want anyone's pity. I could accept their help, but I didn't need them to feel sorry for me. "I have survived HYDRA on more than one occasion," I told him, unable to keep the bite out of my voice. "I would like to stay out of their reach for a bit longer."

He nodded and rose to his feet. "I understand. I would be honored to help you and cover for you as long as possible. Does Director Fury know you're here?"

I honestly didn't know, and I told him as much, adding that Fury had lied to Secretary Pierce in regard to who I was, giving 'Olivia Coulson' as my name instead.

Coulson nodded and then shook my hand once more. "I'm sorry this happened," he told me. "But I'm glad I can help. The rest of the team is out—cabin fever, I suppose."

"Sir, what level clearance am I supposed to have?" I asked him suddenly, the thought only just hitting me. I had done some research on the different clearance levels S.H.I.E.L.D. possessed, and had quickly realized that I myself knew more than some Level 7 members simply by being related to one of the Avengers.

Coulson glanced at a file on his desk, which I quickly noted to be my own. "Level seven," Coulson replied. When he glanced up again, his eyes were twinkling kindly. "Congratulations. I'm glad my niece had excelled so quickly."

I grinned back at him. I didn't know what it was, but something about his kind way of speaking and the almost fatherly way he looked made me want to trust him.

"Don't share all this with the team," he told me softly. "You're an anomaly. There's never been a case like this before; you're not even supposed to exist. Don't give away information about yourself. If possible, I want you to act completely opposite of how you—Katie—normally act. If you're bold, be shy. If you're quiet, be sarcastic. Don't be fake, just be… normal." He glanced up at me, not realizing that I was drowning in all the rules and information I was being handed. "And don't make stuff up without triple checking that it's not contradicting anything S.H.I.E.L.D. had on you."

"Am I?" I asked.

He gave me a confused look. "Are you what?"

"Am I contradicting your information?" I clarified. "Do you have siblings?"

Coulson nodded, a pained look on his face. "I had a brother who… who died several months ago. I also had a niece who died when she was three. She'd be almost twenty now."

"Was her name Olivia?" I whispered, almost afraid to know. I'd feel awful if that were the case, even more than I already did.

He shook his head. "Margaret," he said. A wave of relief swept over me. "I have one other niece; she also works for S.H.I.E.L.D. Perhaps you've heard of her: Sharon Carter?"

I shook my head and then froze. "Carter… is she related at all to Peggy Carter?"

He nodded, blinking. "Yes. Peggy Carter is my grandmother."

"She was my friend," I murmured.

Before Coulson could say anything else, a barrage of voices shattered the relative stillness. I could make out several male and female voices, all of which seemed to be arguing about something. Coulson sighed and rose to his feet once more. "I'll introduce you and show to you your room," he told me. He led me out into the main room, where four young adults stood around bickering. I almost turned around and went back inside to Phil's office; at least it was quiet in there.

"Excuse me!" I jumped. Coulson was glaring impatiently at the team, all of whom looked ready to rip the others' heads off. I shifted uncomfortably as the arguing ceased. Five pairs of eyes zeroes in on me. "I wanted to introduce you to the newest member of our team. This is my niece, Olivia. Olivia, this is your new team, and your bunk is third on the left. I'll let you deal with introductions. Ward, from this point on, you are her S.O. May, I need to speak with you in private."

The only other adult in the group—at least, the only one who _acted _like an adult—was a pretty woman who looked as though she could take out a battalion of soldiers in about five minutes. I gave her a small smile, but she brushed by me without a word or change in expression.

I blinked, feeling as though I had just been dropped into the center of a pride of lions whilst covered in bacon fat, and turned my gaze to the other four, all of whom were watching me as though I had grown a second head. I offered a small smile. "Hey," I said, my voice sounding slightly strangled.

I hated these situations. Making friends was so much easier when life saving was involved. Now that I thought about it, all of my friendships had to do with either me saving their lives or them saving mine: James, protecting me from bullies as a child; Peggy, saving my brother's life; the Howling Commandos, whose lives Steve and I had saved; Bruce, who had saved my life; Eli, whose life I had saved; the Avengers, who al had saved me from HYDRA… I was a mess. And I had no idea how to make friends. I wondered briefly if it was too late to join Tony on his jet, and then realized that we were already in the air. Terrific. Maybe it was time to jump ship.

The shorter of the two girls stepped forward, her hand extended. "It's wonderful to meet you, Olivia," she smiled. She was British, apparently, and had a strong, but pleasant, English accent. She shook my hand, still smiling. "I'm Simmons, and this is Fitz."

She gestured towards the shorter of the two guys, who was only an inch or so taller than I was. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he seemed to be in the process of analyzing me as a threat. He glanced up at Simmons's words. He lifted a hand in a small wave. "Hello." He was British as well, then: Scottish, if I had to guess. He made no other motion to welcome me, although I didn't really mind: he seemed very caught up in his thoughts.

The second girl reached out and shook my hand as well. "Skye," she introduced herself, not bothering with formalities. I wondered if Skye was her first or last name; Simmons had given me hers and Fitz's surnames in lieu of their firsts.

I smiled back. "Olivia."

I glanced at the fourth member of the party, the one who was easily the most imposing. He was easily as tall as Steve was, though he lacked my brother's warmth. While my brother made others feel comfortable and safe, this man set me immediately on edge. Perhaps it was his size, or perhaps it was that he had made no move to make me feel welcome, but I immediately decided I would stay away from him as much as humanly possible. Maybe more.

He just watched me. I felt as though he was staring _through_ me, and I felt the irrational urge to hit him—I had never been so glad for it, because it helped me to loosen up, unfreeze. I tilted my head, returning his gaze. "Aren't you going to say hello?" I asked.

Both Fitz and Simmons stared at me with a mix of amusement and absolute horror, but Skye looked as though she were about to laugh. The man's expression didn't change but for a slight flick of his eyebrows. I thought I had failed in my attempts to break the ice, but then he spoke. "Grant Ward." He offered me his hand, and I took it. I take back what I said before. I didn't just fail—I failed _miserably_.

Despite the sudden surge of nausea that swept over me, I smiled. "Pleased to meet you. Agent Barton told me about you."

I seemed to have peaked his interest at least a little, because his eyebrows actually moved, and his eyes focused on mine. "What did he say?"

"That you're my S.O.," I replied smoothly. He actually managed to look irritated at this, as though he thought he was above training someone as young as me. "And not to mouth off," I added as an afterthought. This time, Skye actually let out a snort of laughter, although she immediately covered with a cough.

An almost mocking smile appeared on Ward's face, and he stepped forward until we were nearly touching. I knew he was trying to intimidate me, and I held my ground. Forget what Coulson said: I wasn't going to pretend to be a weak little girl just because Katie was strong. I wasn't going to be quiet because Katie spoke her mind. I was going to be _me_—with the obvious excluding of my past, my family, my name… okay, so my personality would stay the same, at least. Hopefully. I felt a sudden twinge of guilt at the thought of lying to these people; I had a feeling that they wouldn't be as nice to me once they found out I wasn't who I said I was.

"You're not doing a good job of that," he told me, staring down at me. I stared right back. Growing up with James as my best friend had helped me get used to my short-person-complex, even though I wasn't actually all that short. Having a six-year age difference helped too: while James maxed out at over six feet, I was still about five-foot-nothing. So now, standing beside a man only a head taller, I felt completely calm.

"So I've been told," I quipped back.

He chuckled softly—I had a feeling he was more amused at the horrible training session I would no doubt receive for this conversation than by my sparkling personality—and then met my gaze again. "Training at five tomorrow morning, _Olivia_," he told me, pushing past me and striding to a different side of the plane. "Don't be late."


	33. Chapter 33

I spent the rest of the night in my bunk sorting out my clothing and making my little nook as homey as possible. I had already gone over the file I'd been given on 'Olivia.' Also, I wanted to be alone. I knew that Steve would be furious with me for leaving, even though I didn't have a choice, and I knew I wouldn't have a chance to speak to him again until I got back. If I got back.

I shook my head as I shrugged off the skintight leather I'd been forced into earlier that day. I didn't need to think that way. I tossed the leather clothing deep into the recesses of my small closet, where it would undoubtedly disappear forever. I had always had a knack for losing clothes. I hopped on one foot as I tugged on a pain of jeans, and was sent flying a moment later as we hit a spot of turbulence. Cursing under my breath, I finished pulling my pants on, yanked on a dark tank top and leather jacket, which I had grown rather fond of, and was in the process of trying to shove my feet into a pair of shoes without untying the laces when I realized something that made me freeze where I stood. I couldn't talk to Steve. Or Clint. Or Bruce. Anything I did would undoubtedly be monitored, if not by S.H.I.E.L.D. than by my new teammates. I couldn't talk about my family. I couldn't… I didn't even have a picture of them with me.

I sat down heavily on my bed, wrinkling the blankets, and looked around. My heart hurt. Even if I had them with me, I couldn't even have pictures of my family on display in here: it would give away my identity. Stark had somehow managed to change some photos to make Agent Coulson and I appear together, smiling. I vaguely recalled Tony having taken me to have my picture taken several times, and I figured that this was why. There were a few pictures of me with Agent Coulson, me with a pretty blonde woman I didn't know but who had a striking resemblance to Peggy—I guessed that this was the afore-mentioned Sharon Carter, and me with a couple I didn't know. If I had to guess, I would say that these were supposed to be my 'parents.' I sighed, considered resisting the urge to re-pack the pictures, and then gave into it. I shoved the frames back into my bag and then froze, pulling out a single, plain frame I hadn't noticed before. It was a picture of Eli and I. I wasn't sure when it was taken: I thought I remembered stopping and taking a few pictures in Washington D.C., but I thought they had been lost. I guess Tony had found them. I didn't realize I was crying until my tears dripped onto the glass.

I sniffed, wiped my eyes, and hung the frame beside my bed, making sure it wouldn't fall off the wall the instant we hit turbulence again. I finished unpacking and stowed the bags under the bed, then pulled out one of the few books Tony had thought to pack for me. Among them were Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit as well as the Bible and a few journals of mine, which were filled with sketches, memories, and jumbled thoughts. I opened the smallest of Tolkien's works, and a yellowed piece of paper fell from between the pages. I picked it up, and immediately I decided that Tony—or whoever had put this in here—was my favorite person. It was a picture of Steve, James, and I, taken during the war. It was after Steve had become Captain America, and after James had been rescued from HYDRA, but before the Howling Commandos had been formed. We were all smiling, light shining in our eyes, and James was looking at me like I was the most beautiful girl in the world. Even now, decades later, remembering the look he gave me made me blush. I held my ring to my lips, shaking. I missed him so much.

Someone knocked on the door. I jumped, almost falling off the bed, and hurriedly replaced the picture. I only tripped twice over my shoes as I raced towards the door, and I stomped on the floor, hard enough that my feet were inside my shoes by the time the door side open.

I opened the door, revealing a somewhat frazzled-looking Fitz. "Ah, um, hi, Olivia," he was stuttering, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but here. I couldn't decide if I should feel annoyed, hurt, or amused: I decided to actually listen to Coulson and Clint and be kind, like I used to be. Maybe that was the key: instead of pretending to be someone else entirely, I would just revert to someone I had once been: Katherine, more often known as Katie, Rogers. She had been incredibly kind until her—my—family had been killed. I just had to pretend to be her, just with a different name.

I smiled gently at him. "Hello, Fitz." I held out my hand to him. "I feel we weren't properly introduced," I said softly. "I'm Olivia Coulson."

He took my hand, smiling a bit. "Leo Fitz."

"Pleasure."

He pointed over his shoulder and released my hand. "Are you hungry?" he asked, sounding much more sure of himself than before.

At that moment, my stomach chose to growl nearly loud enough to shake the entire plane. I blushed, crossing my arms over my midsection. "Starving," I told him honestly. With my abilities, I needed to eat twice as much as most people did—and I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

He grinned. "Follow me, then." He led me to a sitting area about fifteen feet away where the rest of the team, minus Agents May and Coulson, was sitting around eating Chinese Takeout. As I sat down, Skye handed me a package of rice and chicken. I thanked her and did my best to ignore the smug, scheming aura coming from Agent Ward.

Almost as soon as I sat down and began shoveling down food, Fitz and Simmons began discussing in rapid-fire tech-speak the pros and cons of using a… Night-Night Gun? What on earth was that?

I raised my hand a little, feeling more like a child than I had in decades. "What's a Night-Night Gun?" I asked, finally swallowing.

Simmons grinned, ignoring the groans of the other team members, and launched into a detailed explanation about how it worked and what it did, only stopping when Ward of all people stepped in.

"Simmons. English."

She shot him an irritated look but simplified the explanation all the same. "The Night-Night Gun is a weapon with the ability to freeze—or temporarily paralyze—hostile persons without killing them," she explained. "Although right now its main use is to incapacitate those with powers and abilities."

I felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice down my shirt. I was suddenly infinitely grateful I had chosen to wear a jacket: anyone who saw my scars would know that I had some sort of ability in order to have survived them. Simmons seemed like the kind of person who'd want to do research on scar tissue: discovering that it was decades old wouldn't help keep my cover.

Besides, I knew what people like them did to people like me. I'd be hunted down and experimented on at best. At worst, Hydra would get their hands on me. I realized with another wave of sickness that if I had any hopes of hiding my newfound abilities—I was pretty sure that someone of my size being able to toss someone of Ward's build across the room wasn't normal—I would have to let myself be beat down. A lot. It was the only way to hide who I really was.

"Olivia, did you hear me?" I snapped out of my thoughts, horrified to see that all attention was focused on me. Simmons looked worried. "Are you alright? You look awful."

I offered her a small smile. "I'm fine," I told her, aware that my voice was scratchy and weak. "Just… not a good flyer, I suppose." Oh, the irony.

Her worried expression vanished in an instant. "Oh, that's alright, then—Fitz and I came up with an anti-air sickness medicine; you'll be good as new in a few moments. I'll be right back."

Before I could dissuade her, she and Fitz both had vanished, leaving me alone with Skye and Ward, the latter of whom looked as though he was looking forward to taking me out in the morning. Lucky me.

"So, Olivia," Skye began, leaning forward. "Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn," I smiled at her. Thankfully, most of the information on 'Olivia' was the same as my own, so there wasn't too much to try and manage.

"It must be weird coming here," Skye commented, leaning back against the couch and glancing around. "What made you come here? Coulson didn't mention anything about you till last night."

I shrugged and looked down, remembering what the file had said. "My S.O. decided that it was time for a change," I told her, focusing on my hands. I didn't want to elaborate, and I hoped Skye wouldn't dig deeper, but she did, unfortunately for me.

"What do you mean?"

I glanced up at her. She was frowning, her dark eyes focusing on mine. Ward was frowning too, I noticed, but he was studying my movements, watching to see if I was lying. I wasn't sure exactly why I was becoming so defensive: perhaps it was because I was terrified I'd be found out and captured. An image of Pierce's face swam before my eyes, and my stomach clenched.

"My parents and my best friend died," I snapped, trying my best not to sound as terrified as I actually was. I let my frustration and anger at my brother out through my voice. I let them in just enough so they would begin to trust me, let them hear the anger and abandonment I felt at being sent here. "I went off the deep end, and my SO wanted me to get my head on straight before I came back, so he sent me here." I looked up and met each of their gazes.

Neither one spoke. Skye was looking down at the table, a guilty expression on her face, but Ward was watching me carefully, his brow furrowed. My throat tightened, and I excused myself to my bunk without another word.

I turned the lights off, threw my jacket onto the floor, and rolled onto my stomach, fully dressed, listening to Ward and Skye talk: the walls of the bunk didn't go all the way to the ceiling, so everyone could hear everything that was happening at any given time. Currently, Skye was trying to talk Ward into playing Battleship with her.

Ever since the experimentation, my hearing had been better than other people's. The thought made me remember when Eli and I first met, when he said that I was like him, that we both had abilities. I had never learned what his were. I rolled over, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, it was to Skye turning my lights on. It was still dark outside. I sat bolt upright, panicked, and realized a second too late that I wasn't wearing anything to cover my scars. A choked gasp escaped her lips as I leapt off the bed and yanked the jacket on, momentarily baring my scarred back to her view. When I turned around, she was still there, and her face had turned slightly green.

"What the hell—?"

I pulled her inside and shut the door behind her. My pulse was racing. I hadn't planned on anyone _ever_ seeing my scars, much less the same day I got there.

"You can't tell anyone," I turned to her, leaning against the wall for support.

Skye shook her head and held her hands up, palms facing me. She still looked half asleep, and her hair was everywhere. She looked as though she'd just woken up. "What is going on? How did that happen?" She gestured to me, indicating my scars.

"It doesn't matter," I snapped.

She frowned at me, crossing her arms. "Does Coulson know?"

I mirrored her expression, doing my best to keep myself from being overwhelmed by panic. "Of course he does."

"Right. He's your uncle."

I nodded in confirmation. "Please," I whispered. "Don't."

"Why would you want to hide that, though?" she seemed irrationally excited the more awake she grew. "That's so badass—"

"The less everyone knows about me, the better," I admitted, trying and failing to keep from growling out the statement.

Skye blinked. "Why?"

When I didn't answer, she shrugged. "Hey, I get you want to keep secrets. Shield's all about keeping secrets." You have no idea. "The first time I was here," she leaned forward conspiratorially, "Ward dragged me here handcuffed with a bag over my head because I tried to expose something Shield was doing."

That peaked my attention. "Seriously? What was Shield doing?"

She gave me a crooked grin. "Seriously. It ended up not being Shield, actually: I was wrong. But hey: your secret's safe with me."

With one last smile, she left the room. I tugged the jacket off, and she poked her head in again. "By the way, it's five till five. Thought you should know; didn't want you having a repeat of my first lesson, and Ward wants you in the garage in five."

I groaned, and she disappeared with a laugh. I quickly found training clothes that covered my scars and threw them on before racing down into the basement of the plane, where Ward was already waiting. A glance at the clock told me that I was exactly forty-three seconds early, and I was very grateful—Ward seemed like the kind of guy who'd make you do ten pushups for every second you were late.

He nodded at me, his gaze lingering for a moment on the scarring visible on my neck and wrists, and then settled into an offensive position. I had barely made it onto the mat before he struck. I arched my back reflexively, placing my palms flat against the floor, and kicked up once he had stepped back. His expression hadn't changed. He went in again, showing no mercy, and got in quite a few blows on my shoulders and chest. As loath as I was to reveal my enhanced strength, I was more opposed to head-injuries, which is why Ward was unable to land a hit anywhere above the collarbone.

Ward was, to my growing annoyance and respect, one of the most skilled fighters I had ever encountered. The only one I had known who fought this well was Natasha, and she had only sparred with me once before handing me over to Barton, telling him that although I was good, I wasn't good enough to face her yet.

For the next week, I fell into a routine. I'd wake up, head down to training, eat breakfast, train some more with either Ward or Agent May, who had yet to smile at me at all, eat lunch, and be trained with Fitz-Simmons, as they liked to be called, in the lab. After dinner, everyone would either go their separate ways or settle in for a board or card game of some kind. I quickly found that playing Monopoly was the surest way to get Fitz-Simmons riled up, that I apparently had a previously undiscovered skill at playing ERS, and that no one could beat Ward at BS, since he was, as I mentioned before, a walking lie detector.

Skye and I had gotten closer, though. She and I had set aside a time each night to get together and talk or watch movies. I hadn't realized how much I had missed having a friend. She was the only person aside from Coulson who knew about my scars, although only Coulson knew about their origins. It was nice to have another girl to talk to; I hadn't had that luxury since the 1940s. Natasha Romanoff wasn't exactly the woman who'd attend sleepovers. We asked if Simmons wanted to come, but she opted to spend most of her time in the lab with Fitz.

About a week after I had arrived on the Bus, Ward and I were going through our usual routine. At this point, I was beginning to understand his style a bit more, and so I thought our fight was going relatively well; although he had landed a couple hits, I hadn't been knocked down. Actually, I hadn't been knocked to the ground at all in the last week. I thought it was because I was very afraid of revealing my abilities; after Simmons' explanation of the Night-Night Gun, I was terrified I'd be revealed as someone who needed to go on the Gifted Index. Because of this, I wouldn't take chances. I'd dodge, staying totally on defense unless I had a chance to kick Ward's legs out from under him.

I blinked, sensing an opening in his defenses, and lunged. He, apparently, had been waiting for this. He grabbed me around the waist, flipped me over, and pinned me to the mat before I had a chance to really register what was going on. As soon as I realized that I was trapped, alarm bells went off in my head.

"Get off me," I growled, my eyes narrowing.

He shook his head. "You need to learn control," he snapped. "This is the first time you've tried to hit me all week, and it was wild. You can't just—"

I could feel the Angel rising up, instinctively coming to my rescue, and I lost it. I kicked up, hitting him squarely in the chest. He was heavier than I thought, and I wasn't using all my strength, but he still was sent sprawling. He landed, stunned and winded, a few feet away, his hand pressed to his chest. I scrambled to my feet, shaking.

I expected him to attack me, but he frowned instead. At least, once he got his breath back. "How did you do that?"

I shook my head, my mouth to dry to speak. I felt like I was about to fall apart. I thought he was going to make me fight him again, but instead, he rose to his feet, watching me with an almost confused expression on his face. I was breathing heavily, sweat shining on my skin. I rarely was this tired anymore; it was a testament to Ward's ferocious training strategy that I was tired at all.

"You're dismissed," he told me, nodding towards the stairs. "Come back tomorrow, show more control."

I didn't dare argue with him. With one last glance at his towering figure, I bolted, taking the stairs three at a time in my rush to make it to the next level. I had no wish to be anywhere near him when he worked out what I had done.


	34. Chapter 34

"Every decision you make from here on out has consequences, so be warned. The kiddie gloves are off."

"G-7."

Ward's face morphed into one of irritation and annoyance. He ground his teeth together. "Hit."

I snorted with laughter and took another sip of coffee. Ward, though talented at BS, was not very good at playing Battleship. I ignored the firm look Ward sent me, choosing to focus on Skye instead. After our little fiasco this morning in which I accidentally threw Ward off me, something someone of my size should never have been able to do, I had avoided his gaze completely. I had no wish to be questioned by him, as I had a feeling that he'd put me under the truth serum faster than I could say HYDRA.

"Yes!" Skye cackled with laughter and placed a red pin in one of Ward's ships. I had a clear view of both boards from my perch on the table; Ward was losing. Badly. Skye glanced up at him again. "So, explain to me again what this has to do with my training."

Ward shrugged. He had apparently been assigned to be the S.O. for both Skye and myself. Apparently, he liked her better. I didn't care, really; I'd just like to have someone looking after me that I didn't have to check over my shoulder for. "It's important for every S.O. to evaluate their student's thought process."

"Mm-hmm."

Ward shrugged again. "And I like board games. B10."

"Nope." Ward glared down at his board and placed a white peg in the offending hole. "This isn't thinking. This is stabbing in the dark, but it's nice to take a break from the workouts."

Ward hummed, tilting his head. "You deserve a break," he admitted, nodding towards me. "She doesn't." I scowled at him, but he ignored me. "I gotta give Coulson credit," he said, leaning back. "I never would have pegged an ex Rising Tide hacker as a good fit, but you're picking things up pretty fast."

Skye was practically glowing. "Did you just give me a compliment?" she asked, pointing to herself.

"I—no, make a comment," he tried to brush it off as nothing, but she didn't give up.

"A _kind _one," she teased, her eyes lit up and gleaming. She tilted her head. "Did it physically hurt to do that?" She leaned forward, completely serious. "Do you need an ice pack?"

Ward, to my surprise, was _smiling_, although it was clear he was trying to keep a straight face. A moment later he failed, and his laughter joined hers. He looked like a different person when he smiled, I noticed. Someone I'd like to have my back.

"Wow, a compliment and a smile," she awed, pursing her lips together.

"Comment," he retorted, his smile disappearing. "Although I may take you up on that ice pack." He pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a large blue and purple bruise where I had kicked him. I winced, and he gave me a look that made it clear that we would talk later.

Skye, fortunately for me, was not listening; she was too busy planning her upcoming victory. "I don't want to ruin the moment," Skye interrupted, examining the board. "But I'm gonna have to respond with…" she examined the board and then looked back up at him, completely serious. "G-4."

Ward glanced down at the board, and his amused expression turned murderous. Skye immediately started grinning.

"Say it, Ward."

He huffed, glaring at the ground.

She leaned forward in her chair. _"Say it."_

He leaned back uncomfortably. "You sank my battleship," he muttered, pouting.

"Ha! Yes," Skye laughed, pumping her fists and tossing another M&amp;M into her mouth.

"Best two out of three," Ward leaned forward, already resetting his place. I rose from my seat and turned around, spotting Coulson leaning against the doorway, Agent May by his side.

Before I could congratulate Skye on her victory, Coulson's voice echoed from behind me. "Olivia, come to my office for a minute."

"I beat you!" Skye crowed.

"Best. Two. Out. Of. Three," Ward ground out.

I headed upstairs, assuming that Coulson would meet me there when he was done speaking to May. Ward and Skye's bickering followed me up to the second floor. I took a seat, bouncing my ankle against my knee, and looked around. An open file was spread across the desk. I leaned forward, curious, and studied the upside-down characters scrawled across the paper: they were in Russian, which until this moment, I hadn't realized I could read, much less understand. I glanced at the door and hurried around to the other side of the desk, reading quickly. The title of the file stood out like a flare in the dark. _**Зимний солдат**_.

_**The Winter Soldier. **_

A feeling of fear spread out from my chest, and my hands began to shake. What was wrong with me? Who was this, the Winter Soldier?

"Olivia!"

I jumped, startled, and shoved the papers back where they had been before darting out the door. I hurried down the ladder and past a gloating Skye to the center of the first floor, where a large screen had been built into a sort of table. The rest of the team had gathered around it, all studying the image of a young, Asian man, which was rotating on the screen. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just missed something incredibly important.

"Olivia, are you alright?" Simmons peered up into my face, frowning.

"Yeah, Liv, you look awful," Skye commented, her brow furrowing.

I shook my head and smiled, well aware that my hands were shaking violently. I shoved them into my pockets. "No, yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

"But it's eight in the morning—"

Coulson began explaining details about the man on the table, cutting off Fitz's observation, to my relief. "Chan Ho Yin," he began. "Just a struggling street performer until a few years ago when Mr. Chan began to exhibit moderate pyrokinetic abilities."

Fitz transferred his attention from me and began studying the screen intensely. "So what gave him powers?"

I perked up, feeling sicker than before. This man had powers? Like me?

Coulson shrugged. "It's still under investigation, but Chan did live near the decommissioned Wan Tai nuclear plant when it caught fire. To our knowledge, no other nearby residents have exhibited similar traits."

Simmons glanced up. "So how did we find out about him?"

An uneasy feeling began building in my chest. Was this man gifted as I was? Were they… were they going to put him on the Index? I didn't think I could be there if they did. It would be too easy for me to lose control. It would be like finding out that a friend was a HYDRA member: nothing would be able to stop the Angel from rising and tearing them apart.

This time it was May who answered. "Informants saw him lighting torches in a street show... with his pinkie."

Coulson picked up again. "Brought it to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention. We told him to keep his abilities under wraps. He's been on the Index ever since.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like I couldn't get enough air. The knowing look Ward gave me was enough to make me want to jump out of the plane, wings or no. Oh, goodness; good thing I didn't have wings anymore. I take it back. I could be somewhere on an island right now if I had wings. Somewhere like Fiji. Or Tahiti. Somewhere warm and not on a plane with people who are willing to tag-and-bag me.

Skye frowned. "The Index?"

Simmons answered. "It's a list S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps of people and objects with powers."

Skye blinked, looking amazed. "Wait, what? How many are there? Are you saying there are more people—?"

May shook her head, cutting Skye off. "Not many.

Skye glanced down disapprovingly, and a bubble of hope swelled up within me. If she thought it was bad for people to be Indexed, maybe, should she discover my abilities, she would keep them a secret.

"Well, enough to keep a list," I retorted. I surprised myself with the amount of bitterness in my words and mentally slapped myself. I had wanted to keep my head down, not leap into the spotlight.

Coulson gave me a contemplative look. "A short list, meant to protect them," he said gently.

Ward looked around at the others before settling his attention on me. I swallowed, and my hands twitched. They hadn't stopped shaking. "Though, in rare cases, S.H.I.E.L.D. has had to take action."

Skye blinked.

"Action against objects or people?" I demanded, looking around.

Everyone around me except for Skye, who looked as worried as I felt, glanced down or away, looking either uncomfortably or ashamed. Goosebumps crawled up my arms, and Skye said what I had been thinking. "Well, that's drastic with a side of creepy. How are they monitored? Tapped phones? Satellite surveillance?" When none of the others bothered to answer with anything but silence, a sort of horrified, wicked look crossed her face. "Body probes in dark, unpleasant places?"

I shifted unpleasantly, reminded suddenly of the computer chip I'd had to dig out of my neck when I escaped HYDRA in the nineties. Simmons made a disgusted sound, and Fitz answered. "Body probes? Now, that's ridiculous. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't do that. We don't do that." He glanced up at Coulson. "Do we?"

I made a face, not liking the expression on Coulson's. "The methods vary." My eyebrows lifted, and my fingernails buried themselves deeper into my thighs. This literally was the worst place for me to be. Why the hell did Stark think it was a good idea to send me here? "Mr. Chan was low-risk. He was assigned a case agent who checked in with him every few days. That's how we discovered him missing."

May suddenly began sprouting off in Cantonese, which, unlike Russian, I did not understand, exchanging words with a man on the other side of the screen. I stood, wishing to be anywhere but where I was, until May decided to translate, which she did a moment later.

"Everyone, this is Agent Kwan, Chan Ho Yin's case agent." We all waved. Even the small motion made me sick. She turned back to him. "What can you tell us?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," the man shrugged, and I noticed that he didn't seem to be completely fluent in English. "Chan is a magician, so at first, I thought he'd made himself disappeared."

Coulson nodded. "The file says you'd caught him violating his Index agreement before."

"On two separate occasions... claimed we were 'hampering his artistic expression.' But late last night, he was taken by professionals." I felt the blood drain from my face. Was it HYDRA? "The only thing they left behind was this scrap of aluminized material." He held up a small baggie, and Simmons leaned forward, squinting.

"Fireproof clothing," she breathed.

"So whoever took him knew about his power," Ward deduced, glancing over at me again. This time, though, he seemed concerned. For me? Or for the team?

Agent Kwan nodded. "Yes, and we think we know why. Over the last few days, tech division discovered a crack into our data stream. It's the same cyber punks who hacked us before. Somehow, they got in again. It's the Rising Tide."

Suddenly, all noise in the room ceased, and everyone turned to look at Skye, who was hunched over the table. I glanced up and around, confused by their reactions. She looked around, mouth slightly open, as everyone else gave her betrayed or contemplative looks.

Agent Kwan interrupted the awkward silence. " Hello? It got real quiet." He leaned forward, tapping the screen gently. "You guys still there?"

Coulson nodded. "Yes, I apologize. Something just came up; I'll let you know if we discover any new developments. Keep us in the loop."

May exchanged a few more words with the aged Agent, and then closed the call.

Coulson fixed Skye and I with that steely look of his. "Both of you. With me. Now."

We exchanged worried glances but followed him to his office. I was painfully aware of Ward trailing directly behind me, and was inwardly cursing the Angel and my inability to control her. What if Ward told Coulson about me?

Coulson locked the door once the four of us were all inside. "Olivia, take a seat." I did so immediately, not sure what this was about. Had Ward already told him about what had happened this morning? Did Coulson have some sort of monitor or super power to know that I had been reading his files? Speaking of which—Coulson closed them and locked them away. Great. "Skye—"

Before he could continue, the girl cut him off, looking hurt and angry but somehow managing to stay calm all the same. "Look, the Rising Tide is a huge organization of hacktivists from all around the world. Any of them could have done this! It wasn't me."

Ward, for the first time, actually looked placating, concerned about Skye's feelings. That was a first. "No one's saying it was."

Skye looked to be near tears. "But you're thinking it! I can see your faces thinking it."

Coulson looked incredibly calm and unruffled. "We're assessing the situation."

Skye turned back to him, her frustration growing. "Then I'm sure you're taking into account that I have been living on a plane with you this whole time. It would be impossible for me to hack S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Or easier. We're gonna need more than that."

"Fine." She looked around at Ward and then at me. "Let me trace the hack, and I'll prove it."

Coulson leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him, and opened his mouth to say something. It was Ward who cut him off. "I believe her, sir. And if she's telling the truth, we need to track down the person responsible."

Coulson stood up so quickly, I almost leapt up from my chair in response. "Dig up something, and fast. The longer Mr. Chan's missing, the more danger he's in."

Skye nodded, and she left the room, closing the door behind her. Coulson sank down into his chair and looked over at me. "Olivia."

I stood, cursing my shaking hands, and made my way over to him. "Yes, sir?"

"Ward tells me that something interesting happened today during your training session." I glanced over my shoulder at the man, whose expression was unreadable. "Do you want to explain what went on?"

I swallowed. "Uncle, you know that I've never had good experiences with small places, or being pinned down." A brief flicker of understanding crossed his face, and he nodded. "Today, I was sloppy. I wasn't paying attention, and Ward managed to pin me down. I panicked and acted without thinking." Once again I turned to face Ward, who had crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Ward stepped forward so that we were inches from touching, and for the first time, he intimidated me. I was afraid of him. Not of his size, but of what he had the potential to do. He shook his head, but instead of the anger I was expecting, a look of sympathy crossed his face. "I'm fine." His voice was sharp, but there was a glimmer of pity there that hadn't been there before. "That's not the issue. The issue is that you—" he motioned with his hands, gesturing to all hundred and thirty pounds of me, "—should not have been able to kick me halfway across the room and leave me with this." He tapped his chest, indicating the bruise that no ordinary girl could cause.

"Lucky shot," I said softly. I realized suddenly that Coulson had no idea of my abilities. He didn't even know that I had had wings, only that Hydra had tortured me. He very well could put me on the Index.

"Agent Ward," Coulson interrupted suddenly, his voice soft. "Let me have a word alone with my niece, please. Wait outside."

"Yes, sir," He left the room, closing the door behind him.

I sank into the chair, unable to stay standing any longer. What had just happened? I had thought for sure that Ward was going to chew me out, but he hadn't seemed angry with me. He hadn't even pushed as much as I thought he would. Was he trying to protect me?

"Katherine," Coulson breathed. "Tell me the truth. What happened?"

I looked him right in the eye. If Ward was going to cover for me, and I had a feeling that he would, I could risk telling Coulson about my abilities. Not when there was the risk of HYDRA finding me. "I told you and Ward, Sir," I answered softly. "It was a lucky shot."

Coulson shook his head, but I cut him off. "You know the stories you hear on the news," I began, "About the men and women who experience brief surges of strength and adrenaline when their lives or the lives of their loved ones are in danger?" I waited until he nodded to continue. "I think that's what happened. After everything that happened, suddenly being pinned down, I just…" I swallowed. "It brought back memories."

I wasn't lying about that, not at all. For a brief moment before I had kicked Ward off me, I had thought I had been strapped to that thrice-damned chair again, about to be wiped. I had lashed out, unable to keep the Angel at bay. And I was starting to understand something about the Angel: she was the one who had saved me from HYDRA in the 90s and, as I had recently recalled, in the 60s. I would have never escaped if it hadn't been for her.

"Be as that may," Coulson said, frowning, "I don't think that someone of your size could have thrown someone like Ward off you simply because you were frightened."

I gave him a stern look, suddenly angry. I had no right to be, not really, since I was lying to his face, but I was furious that he referred to my PTSD as me being "frightened." "With all due respect, Sir," I all but snarled at him, "You've never been tortured or held prisoner by HYDRA. What I went through…" I took a deep breath. "It terrifies me," I told him honestly. "The thought of going back there; the reminder of what happened to me, it… I can't risk being taken back there." I gave him a weak smile. "Besides, it could come in handy in a real fight. There's no chance of me being taken alive."

And there wasn't, I knew. I would rather die than go back there.

He nodded. I didn't know if he was fully convinced, but he seemed placated for now. "I understand," he told me. "You can go."

I nodded and rose from my chair, heading back to my room. I considered for a moment asking Coulson about the Winter Soldier, but I knew that that would damage the faith he had put in me. And right now, after the lies I had just told him, I needed all the trust I could have.

Guilt gnawed at me. I hated lying, and Coulson was a good man. But I was afraid. And if Ward would keep my secret—he didn't even know if I had abilities, he just suspected it—then there was no reason for me to risk my life.

I passed Ward on my way out, and he touched my shoulder lightly, enough to make me pause. He nodded, his expression neutral, but understanding flickered in his gaze. "Your secret's safe with me," he breathed, brushing past me and entering Coulson's office.


	35. Chapter 35

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So the review problem with Fan Fiction is now fixed. Please feel more than welcome to submit reviews as normal (If they're questions/PMs, I will try to reply to them when I get them).**_

_**I love it when I get constructive reviews—they're very encouraging to me and they let me know what I'm doing well (so I can keep doing it) and what I need to work on (which I will fix) so I become a better writer. And a bonus for you, they encourage more frequent updates, and reviewers get spoilers if they wish ;) Thanks! Love you!**_

I made my way back downstairs and ended up back in the screening room with the others. Skye was hard at work tracing the signal, Fitz hovering over her shoulder, and Simmons was working a few feet away doing… I honestly had no idea what she was doing. I spent my time fighting or reading, which didn't leave much time for computer work.

"What exactly are you doing?" I asked her, leaning forward to inspect the tablet.

She opened her mouth to answer, but Coulson interrupted, walking into the room. Grant was right behind him, and he gave me a brief nod as he entered. "How close are we?"

Skye glanced up. "Almost there."

Fitz glanced up, a slightly dreamy look on his face. "She's identified the remote-access Trojan and the infected endpoint..."

Simmons picked up immediately. "And is searching for a TCP to correlate the hypertext with signature information and then..."

"Bob is your uncle."

"... voilà."

I blinked. It was as if their minds were connected. I wished I had a friend as close as that.

Coulson turned to Ward. "You get any of that?"

He shrugged. "Only the uncle part."

Skye pointed at the screen as it began to beep. A virtual blue map of the United States popped up on screen. "We got our origin: Austin, Texas."

Coulson leaned forward, intense. "You got a name?"

"Just the café our hacker worked out of, but I'm in the system. I'm gonna check to see if any credit-card charges from that day match up with any known hackers." The screen beeped again, and the image of a good-looking young man came up on the screen. "We got a hit."

Skye expression went slack for a moment before reforming into her usual one. I frowned and then turned my attention back to the table. If she was hiding something, it was her business. I was hiding something too, after all.

"Miles Lydon, not Skye; that's to all of our relief."

Coulson spoke up. "You know him?"

I glanced up quickly. Skye looked visibly shaken, but she plowed on, her voice slightly strained. I wondered if anyone else could hear the tension in the words she spoke, see the strain behind her small smile. "Every hacker in the world knows him."

"Not just the hacker world: he infiltrated the Kremlin," Simmons sounded very impressed, although I wasn't sure why or even what the Kremlin was.

Fitz grinned alone with Simmons. "Yeah, the picture of, uh, Putin shirtless on horseback, that was his hack."

"Putin?" I whispered to Coulson.

"President of Russia," he murmured back.

"It was also his hack that got Chan kidnapped," Ward reminded everyone solemnly. His arms were once again crossed over his chest.

Coulson glanced up from his tablet. "May, set a course for Austin."

"Just did."

"What about Chan?" I finally spoke up. "Isn't he our number one priority, being missing and all?"

"Kwan's got a S.H.I.E.L.D. team on the ground. Our best bet is to chase this thing from the other end. Find Mr. Lydon, bring him in, see what he knows."

The team split up, Fitz-Simmons grinning at Skye before disappearing. Ward, May, and Coulson disappeared, leaving Skye and I alone.

She glanced up at me. "Hey, Liv. You okay?" she nodded towards the upstairs. "I hope you didn't get roasted up there."

I shook my head. "No, that's nothing. Just a misunderstanding."

Silence fell, and I was the one to break it. "Skye, I—" I swallowed. I didn't want to believe that Skye would betray us. From what I understood, the Rising Tide was a group of hackers who wanted information to go public. I had… a few reservations about that, considering my own position, but otherwise I was fine with the public knowing what sort of dangers they faced. I didn't see how they by themselves were dangerous. However, if any of them worked for HYDRA, it would be disastrous. And heaven knows that HYDRA would love to have eyes and ears on me. "You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?"

Her expression turned guarded. "Why would you think that?"

I shook my head. "I don't," I murmured, making sure no one else could hear me. "I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing. I need to know who I can trust."

Skye shook her head, visibly hurt and defensive. "You can trust me, Olivia. I had nothing to do with this, I swear."

I looked her in the eye and nodded slowly. I didn't think she was lying. I held out my hand to her, and we grasped wrists. "Alright."

"Olivia, come with me." May appeared in the doorway and I followed her into Coulson's office for the third time that day. I hoped that this wouldn't become a regular thing.

"Olivia, I want you to go with Agent May on this one," Coulson said, not glancing up from the file he was reading. There it was again: the Winter Soldier. "It's your first mission, I want to make sure you're well taken care of."

I blinked. I had a babysitter? I was twice her age! "I can take—" I caught his sharp look and cleared my throat, cutting off my complaint. "Yes, Sir."

He nodded. "Good. Go get ready. May, stay for a moment."

I left, agitated, but I knew where he was coming from. From everyone else's perspectives, I was fresh meat. This was my first mission with the team. To the others, I was a teenager who had no idea what she was doing. To Ward, I was a girl with a secret. To Coulson, I was a threat. I knew that. It looked like he was keeping an eye on me.

Skye's voice came on over the Comms Unit. "Just left the café where Miles logged in. Cashier says she hasn't seen him in over a week."

Ward's voice answered her. "I may have eyes on him."

I glanced over at Agent May. So far, this mission has seemed like a complete waste of time. May and I were nowhere near the rest of the action; we were in a car about two blocks away.

A moment later, Ward's voice came back, frantic. "I've been made." I sat up, alert, scanning for the threat even though I knew I wouldn't see him. "Heading East on 5th street. Target is now in a silver Jetta."

May looked down at her tablet and started moving, but not in the direction of the subject. "What are you—?"

She silenced me with a cold look.

Coulson's voice came on. "I got him."

I listened in suspense, hearing nothing for almost two minutes as May and I drove, taking the roundabout. "I lost him."

I sat back, disappointed, and glanced over at the driver. "Where are we going?" I frowned at the GPS device, which was taking us farther away from the others. I waited several minutes, waiting for an answer that never came. We turned off the main road and onto a more private drive.

I glanced over. Trepidation was growing inside me. I didn't like being led blindly around by anyone, especially not by people I had just met. Eli was the major exception, and he only got a free pass because I had just fallen from a hundred-story building, broken my wing, and been beaten to a pulp by an assassin. "Agent May?"  
"Agent Coulson, I suggest that you focus on the mission," she replied in clipped tones.

I frowned at her. I hated having to take orders, especially from people half my age. We made another turn. "How can I? I don't know what the mission is," I replied, my tone matching hers.

"Your uncle didn't tell you?" She actually sounded troubled now.

"Tell me what?"

Was she going to kill me? I was suddenly painfully away of every detail around me, from the gun in my waistband to the knife strapped to my forearm. The leather jacket I wore rubbed irritably against my scarred skin, but I ignored it.

"He sent us to follow Skye," she admitted a few minutes later.

I was floored. So he didn't trust her? "She told me that there was nothing going on," I managed to say.

May glanced at me. "Maybe she lied."

"I'm a good judge of character."

We pulled up on front of an apartment building the GPS had led us to. I realized then what the little red dot on the screen was. It was Skye. I swallowed hard. "Agent May—" the older agent glanced over, a hint of sympathy in her gaze. "The Rising Tide, it… it's never had any ties to HYDRA, has it?"

She frowned and leaned forward. "HYDRA?" she repeated incredulously. "I doubt it, since HYDRA was disassembled in the 40s." A suspicious look crossed her face. "Why?"

I decided to be slightly honest. "Because the brother of my S.O. was killed by a HYDRA agent several months ago because a friend betrayed our location," I whispered. "And I don't know what I'd do if I were to be betrayed by another friend."

She was silent for a few seconds. "Olivia, I don't think the Rising Tide is related to HYDRA. I don't know what to think about Skye."

"You don't seem like the kind of person to blindly trust someone," I managed a soft chuckle, trying to fight off the sick feeling in my gut.

The corner of her lips quirked upwards just a bit. "You're right, I'm not." Her expression hardened. "I know you and Skye have become close. And I know that you've been sold out before; if she's a traitor, it's going to be hard. But we have a job to do. Can I trust you to do what has to be done?"

It was the most I had ever heard her say at once. I swallowed and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

I followed her out of the car and into the apartment building. I let May do the talking; she quickly got the address from the concierge working there. The elevator ride was silent. I couldn't keep from twisting my engagement ring around my finger.

The doors opened without a sound, and I followed the agent out and onto the floor. May entered the apartment without bothering to knock. I scanned the room, and my heart fell. Skye's shirt was lying on one of the chairs.

I felt my heart harden, and felt my expression mirror it. My teeth clenched. "So she did betray us," I breathed. May glanced at me and then glanced away again.

I could hear Skye and a man—Miles—talking from behind a door a few feet away.

"—people I'm working with."

I glanced at May, whose expression was unreadable. I'm quite certain that mine was bordering on murderous at this point. I stepped towards the door, but May reached out and caught my upper arm in a crushing grip. She shook her head minutely.

"Some good stories, though, I hope?"

"Miles." So I was right, then. She betrayed us to Miles. She must have told him that we were coming. There were so many things I wanted to scream at her right then. "You have no idea. But that's classified."

"You did not just say that to me!" the man laughed. "Come on, you got to tell me something."

"Someday," she answered vaguely. I took a deep breath, somewhat surprised that I had so much control over the Angel. Perhaps she only appeared in life threatening situations, not just the ones where friendships were compromised.

"Well, if they ever let you go on leave or whatever, let me know, and I'll get us a suite at the... fancy hotel that has suites, and you can regale me with stories while naked."

May snatched up Skye's shirt and prowled towards the door. I followed directly behind her, itching to pull out my knife. I managed to put off the urge for a few minutes, though.

"A suite? You? That's funny. But they're never gonna let me go on anything if I don't find my stupid..." The doors opened suddenly, revealing a half dressed Skye. Her face fell, and her eyes widened. "... top."

May held out Skye's shirt. I couldn't see her expression, but I could see Skye's: she looked frightened, and even more so when she glanced at me. "Get. Dressed," May growled, her tone furious.

Skye glanced at me as she took her shirt from May. I immediately turned away, forcing myself to keep the Angel under lock and key. May went and started barking orders at Miles, who sounded horrified and shocked that someone had found them. He wanted information to be free, didn't he? Well, his address was online for anyone to see.

Skye finished buttoning her shirt and turned to me. "Olivia—" she began, her voice earnest.

"I don't want to hear it," I snarled back, my eyes narrowing.

She actually shrank back, looking as though she might cry. "Please—"

I turned away, looking towards May. "I need to make a call."

She nodded and led Miles, now dressed, back into the room a few minutes later and pushed him down into a chair. Skye sat down on the edge of the couch, staring down at her hands.

I pulled out my phone and dialed one of the numbers that Bruce had made me memorize. The phone rang twice before it was picked up. "Hello?"

"Doctor Banner, I was hoping I could speak to you. Do you have a minute?"

I was sure that he could hear the fury in my voice, because he paused for a minute as if wondering if refusing me was the best idea. "Yeah, I-I've got a second, how can I help you?"

"The tests you ran," I said, lowering my voice and glancing towards the others. "What were the results?"

He was silent for a few seconds. "You were right," he said softly. "You were reintroduced with the Infinity Formula. I'm sorry."

"Does that come with any side effects?" I asked, pushing away the wave of despair that rose up within me at the thought. "Other than aging and longevity?"

"You mean the lack of aging?" he quipped. "Yeah. Enhanced strength, like your brother's."

"Great." I was tired, so tired. I wanted to go home, where there weren't any traitors or assassins… where I could be free.

"Your brother is here, if you want to talk to him," Bruce suggested.

Coulson walked into the room and froze when he saw Skye. Fitz-Simmons followed him, both looking shocked at the sight of their friend. Ward took up the rear, and his expression fell for a moment before becoming unreadable.

"Katie?" It was Steve.

I almost started crying. It had never felt so good to hear my name, or my brother's voice. I smiled at the sound of it. "Hey, Steve."

"Where are you? What's going on?"

"I'm alright," I murmured, glancing over at my team. I didn't have much time. "I'm with Agent Coulson, everything's okay. I just wanted to talk to you. I missed you."

"I missed you too, Katie. I'm so sorry."

"I know," I whispered. I felt like a metal hand was squeezing my heart, waiting for it to break. "And I forgive you."

"Katie—"

Coulson glanced over at me. "I have to go now, but I'll talk to you soon, alright?" My voice cracked, and Ward glanced up at me from his position across the room.

"I love you, Katie. Stay safe, please. I can't lose you too."

I nodded, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see me. A tear fell onto my cheek, and another one followed from my other eye. "I will. I love you too."

I hung up the phone as Ward walked over, and I wiped my face quickly, not wanting him to see me crying. "Who was that?"

"A friend," I replied softly, making sure any outward sign of grief was gone from my face.

"Sounded intimate."

I glanced up at him, my eyes narrowing. I wasn't in the mood for his interrogation. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't, and so I'd stay and let my heart be stomped on over and over again because that, apparently, was my job. "None of your business."

I tried to walk away, but he grabbed my arm in an iron grip, jerking me back. "Hey," his voice was louder and sharper than I expected. He glanced around discreetly as the others glanced our way, and he lowered his voice. "We suffered a blow today," he murmured. "I get it. You're hurting. But you need to keep it together."

"Let go of me," I hissed, trying and failing to pull away. I didn't need a lecture on controlling my emotions, not from him. I wanted nothing more than to shove him across the room and through the wall for grabbing me, but I didn't think a show of my strength would be a good idea given the current circumstances, especially when I was this unstable.

"Who was that, really?" he pressed.

I glared at him. "It doesn't matter."

"Don't keep secrets from the team, _Agent_."

My tone turned venomous. "I could say the same thing to you, _Sir_."

I yanked my arm out of his grip and stormed away, pocketing my phone.

Coulson was finishing up his chat with Skye when I reached them. He actually was starting to turn to face me again when she started talking, and he froze, a furious expression passing over his face for a moment.

"Really, I was gonna find out everything I could to try to help. I just... I felt like I couldn't tell you guys everything." Skye glanced over at me, pleading, and I looked away. I didn't trust her. I didn't know if I could ever trust her again, not after this.

A nasty little voice in my head reminded me that I was keeping secrets too, many more than Skye was, but I didn't want to listen to it. I'd much rather wallow in my misery now and figure out what to do later.

Coulson looked sharply back down at Skye, the girl I knew he was beginning to care for as a daughter. "I know. That's why I asked May and Olivia to follow you. Seems that wasn't a dead end."

Skye looked up at me, a hurt and betrayed look on her face. "You didn't trust me?"

I took a deep breath. "I did. That's on me."

"Olivia—"

"What do you need me to do?" I turned to Coulson, clenching my hands into fists. I needed to break something.

"Search through Mr. Lydon's things, see if you find anything related to Mr. Chan."

"Gladly." I walked into the recently vacated bedroom and began searching through all the drawers I could find, my frustration growing by the second. Why would Skye betray us?

_You're betraying them, too._

Great. The voice was back. During my time in cryo-freeze, at east before the Angel was born, it had been my constant companion. It had been the one to continuously remind me that James and Steve's deaths were my fault, that I would be a prisoner forever, that I was a murder. It went silent once the Angel came about, no doubt sensing the new Alpha, but now it was back. Terrific. "It's different," I whispered, tossing the blankets onto the bed to search under it. Nothing but… ew. Underwear. I pulled back, disgusted. The sooner I get out of here, the better.

_Is it? They trust you, 'Olivia.' Skye at least gave them her real name. Can you imagine what will happen when they figure out that you lied to them about everything?_

"I don't have a choice," I hissed, rifling through Lydon's drawers. I threw clothes onto the bed, dumped papers on top of them. Nothing.

_You're a liar. You're going to drag Coulson along with you, and you're going to get them all killed._

I didn't grace the last thought with a verbal response. Instead, I threw the nearest thing to me—a cheap glass vase—across the room. It shattered against the wall, and the pieces fell to the carpet. I felt a bit of satisfaction when it broke, but not much. Both my heart and my mind were in the same position as that unfortunate vase.

"So, are you guys just going to destroy all my stuff?" Lydon's offended voice carried through from the other room.

I responded by yanked a drawer from the desk and letting it fall to the ground with a clatter.

"Yes," May replied smoothly.

I stormed out of the room, slamming into Ward on my way. He was the one to stumble back, though; apparently my strength was more prominent when I was angry. He glared down at me as I pushed past him.

"Anything?" Coulson asked.

I shook my head. "There's nothing there," I snapped back. "Sir," I added, trying to at least sound remotely respectful. He didn't seem to blame me, though. I had a feeling that he was even more upset than I was.

"May?" he asked, looking over at her. She shook her head slowly.

"I don't have to talk to you," Lydon grumbled.

"Take him in," Coulson commanded. "Gather all the evidence and secure the prisoners. We got what we were looking for here. We're going to Hong Kong."

I remained where I was as Coulson left, he and May steering Lydon out of the room. Ward crossed over to Skye. I moved towards Fitz and Simmons.

"Can I do anything?" I asked softly. A look of pity crossed Simmons's face, but I decided not to comment on it.

She shook her head. "We've got it."

"I'm so sorry, Ward. This is not what it looks like—"

"Hands." Ward locked the cuffs around her wrists, his movements robotic. I glanced over at the two of them. Ward was standing directly over her.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," Simmons murmured.

"Now get up."

Skye rose from the couch, a sigh escaping her lips as she followed our S.O. from the room. I moved, following Simmons, and ran into her as she stopped.

"Uh, you missed a button," she murmured to Skye, wincing. "I'm sorry," she whispered, squeezing past her. I waited at Skye's side, falling into my old routine—watch the prisoner, don't let her escape.

Skye glanced over at me. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She looked like she was about a second away from bursting into tears.

I nodded, clenching my teeth to keep from breaking down. I hated this. I hated lying. I hated being stabbed in the back. I hated everything about this stupid place. I wanted my brother, my friends, my fiancé. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to go home.

"Yeah," I whispered, nudging her gently forward. "So am I."


	36. Chapter 36

"Guy's hiding behind platitudes. He's dirty. I can feel it." Ward was, unsurprisingly, in a rather horrible mood, stalking around and glaring at the video monitors. The difference between this and other afternoons was that today, everyone was miserable.

Simmons searched through the sheets of paper she had printed off of him. "Scrubbed clean, actually... nothing much on him. He's got no family records, his apartment's under an alias, and he plays a lot of Minecraft, where he runs a rather nasty mob."

I frowned. Minecraft? What on earth was Minecraft? Everyone else seemed to know what it was, so I couldn't ask, and I decided to ask Coulson about it later.

Fitz looked up, horrified. "Is it ... is it zombie?"

"Zombie pigmen," Simmons said seriously. Fitz shuddered.

I crossed my arms over my chest, scowling at the screen. "Keep looking."

"Right." Fitz turned back to the screen, muttering and throwing little digital documents off the screen with a swipe of his hand. Something caught my eye, and I leapt forward.

"Hey, what about that?" I pointed to a small file at the corner of the screen.

Fitz hardly glanced at it, too busy reading another file. "That? That's nothing."

My temper was about to blow. "But—"

Fitz looked up, an angry look crossing his face. "I'm sorry, do you want my job? Because—"

"Enough," Ward growled, stepping in between us. "Fitz, humor the girl. Olivia, cool it."

Both of us turned away, scowling, and Simmons pulled up the document I had pointed to. She shook her head. "Nothing," she said softly. She started to turn away. "Half a moment…" she pulled up the corner of a document that had been shoved almost completely off the screen and had been covered by mine. "It's a series of four checks," she read. Her eyebrows lifted as she looked back up at us. "For one million dollars."

I blinked. In my day, that had been a ton of money. I guessed that the value had gone down, and I knew it had a bit (gasoline was much more expensive now than it had been in the 30s and 40s), but I knew it still was a ton of money for someone like Lydon to have in his checking account.

"Olivia, go tell Coulson we found something." Ward had a wicked look on his face.

I didn't dare disobey him, not while he looked like that, and I hurried to his office, accidentally catching the last few seconds of his and May's conversation. With my hearing, I could hear them speaking before I even made it to the stairs.

"Then that alien staff went through my heart," Coulson said ruefully.

"Sure it didn't go through the brain?" May deadpanned.

"You really don't do comforting, either, do you?" he asked her.

I took the stairs two at a time, only slipping once.

"What is your gut telling you now?" May asked him softly.

"That she's still hiding something."

Were they talking about me? I hoped not—I had enough to think about without people looking into my abilities, and not just the ones I had been given with that damned serum.

I burst into the room, almost running into May. "Uncle, we found some evidence." I quickly explained the checks we had found as I followed him back downstairs, May on my tail.

"Interesting." Coulson looked right at me and handed me the checks. "Olivia, you talk to them. See what you can get."

"What?" I blinked, blindly accepting the checks.

"Sir?" Ward looked astounded and slightly angry. "Shouldn't I be handling the interrogations?"

"Normally, yes. But right now, Olivia and Skye have some unresolved conflict going on that might work to our advantage. If she fails, Ward, you can go in."

Comforting.

I strode down to the cell, knowing that the others would be watching me, listening for information and waiting to send Ward in should I fail. Speaking of whom, my S.O. was currently directly behind me.

"Just leave if they start getting to you," he told me. "I'll take it from there."

"I got it," I replied, opening the door. Skye and Lydon looked up at me, and I quickly wiped all traces of my grief off my face, leaving cold, indifferent anger instead.

I started talking as soon as I entered the room. "She's been defending you, saying you're a stand-up guy, so I'm going to give you a chance." I cocked my head, placing my hand on my hip as I dropped the checks in a neat pile in front of him. Both looked down at the papers. "Do you want to tell her, or should I?" Skye frowned up at me, then glanced at him.

Lydon scowled. "I don't have to listen to you—"

I rolled my eyes and turned to Skye, scooping up the pile. "There goes your chance. Your boyfriend here—" I jammed my thumb back in his direction, "made a few deposits in the days following the leak." I laid out the four checks in front of her, one above the other, so she could see them clearly. "All said, it's about a million dollars."

Skye looked about ready to murder the man across from her. "What?"

I lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Lydon. "Real stand-up guy."

"I can explain—"

She cut him off. "Did you sell information?" he didn't answer. "Miles? Yes or no?" Her face started to redden. "Did you?!"

"Yes, but—"

Skye jerked forward, but her cuffs held her back. I placed a warned hand on her shoulder. "Ohh! You are so dead. What the hell were you thinking?!"

"It was a million dollars!" his voice dropped. "A million dollars. It would change my life... our lives." I scoffed, rolling my eyes at the clear attempt to toy with Skye's emotions. Not every man was like James, chivalrous and honorable. This man was a snake. "And that woman was harmless, I looked into it."

"No one with good intentions pays that kind of money for information!" Skye was gritting her teeth, glaring daggers at him. "Did you ever think about that?!"

He rolled his eyes, and I resisted the urge to kick him in the teeth. "Of course I did. I would never have done it if I thought—"

"Who is the woman you referred to?" I interrupted calmly, looking down at him.

He shrugged, frowning. "A fan of the Rising Tide, some rich girl in a flower dress. She knew all about me, said I had a gift. She thought people like us deserved more."

"Oh, you deserve more," Skye snarled.

He kept going, looking defeated. "She pointed me to a Chinese S.H.I.E.L.D. feed... wanted me to crack it."

I was about ready to shove this guy's head through the wall. Honestly, if my team hadn't been watching, I probably would have. Skye most likely would have cheered me on. "You thought that was harmless?"

"I checked the data stream. It didn't seem like anything you and I hadn't already put out there, Skye. And I traced the account where the money came from to make sure it wasn't some evil corporation. It was just an eco-research lab. Otherwise, I would never—"

I frowned, glancing up at the camera. "Ecological research?"

"Yeah, insects, some study with centipedes." Skye and I stared at each other, dread rising up within me. I knew all about Centipede, the organization that combined the Super-Soldier Serum with tons of other things and made people explode; Fitz-Simmons had explained it to me last week. If they got their hands on a gifted who could stabilize their formula… "What's more harmless than that?"

Without another word I left the room. I closed the door, and when I turned around, I ran right into Ward, who had been lurking on the other side of the wall.

He nodded at me. "Good job."

I blinked. "Did you just compliment me?"

He shook his head and moved back upstairs, leaving me to follow after him. We reached the main level where the others were, and I grabbed his arm, accidentally pulling him to a stop. "Oh, sorry—" I cleared my throat. "Thank you."

Ward nodded and moved into the other room without another word.

"It appears Centipede is responsible for Mr. Chan's kidnapping," Coulson announced, striding into the room. He gave me a quick nod of approval and turned to the others.

"First L.A., now Hong Kong. What kind of organization are we dealing with?" Ward asked, glancing around.

"International, well-financed, interested in creating a super soldier. Let's hope finding Mr. Chan will provide some answers. Using the account information Mr. Lydon gave us, S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ believes he's being held here." He pointed to the digital model of a relatively small building.

"Any ideas what Centipede wants with Chan?" May asked, concerned.

Fitz shrugged. "Hard to say, but Simmons thinks that considering he's pyrokinetic—"

Simmons picked up. "There's a good chance his genetics could stabilize the extremis element of the Centipede serum."

Fitz continued. "Keep their test subjects from going..."

"Boom!" Simmons finished. Fitz mimed an explosion behind her.

Coulson looked on, focused. "If Mr. Chan is Centipede's lab rat, we need to get there before the experiment's over."

"We're still a while out from there," May warned him softly.

"Full throttle," he murmured back as the others scattered, Simmons heading to her room. "We need to get there as soon as we can."

"Fitz—" I hurried after the scientist as he exited the room. I didn't catch up to him until he was back in his lab. "Fitz—"

"Congratulations on your interrogation," he said coldly, avoiding my gaze. "Must be nice to be able to put your manipulation skills to good use."

I frowned. "Fitz—"

"Of course, you—"

I didn't let him finish. I stalked over to him and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him a little. "Fitz, would you stop talking for five seconds and listen to me!"

His eyes widened, and he stopped talking. I stepped back and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier," I told him, my voice softening. "It's not an excuse, but I was upset and stressed out. I shouldn't have lost it. And I'm sorry for yelling at you again just now."

He glanced at the ground and then back at me. I hadn't realized that he was taller than me until now. He rubbed the back of his head. "I'm sorry too," he sighed. "It's just, with Skye…" I nodded. "There's none of this betrayal stuff at the Academy," he muttered. "None."

I laughed softly. "Sounds like a great place."

He nodded, smiling, and then frowned. "You never went?"

I shook my head. Coulson had told me about this: it was odd for an Agent, especially one of my ranking, to not have attended an Academy. Ward was another exception; Agent Garrett, an old friend of Coulson's, had trained him himself. I repeated the information on my alias. "My own special training," I replied. "I was skilled and my uncle was way up there… Agent Barton saw potential and took me under his wing. No Academy for me."

He chuckled softly and then frowned, his eyes searching my face. "You're lying."

I frowned, inwardly shocked at the agent's observation skills. "What?"

"I don't know about what, but you're not telling the truth about something," he commented, his discontented expression growing darker. His eyes darted between mine, jumping to different veins and areas of my face, searching for tells. "I recognize you."

"Fitz," I lowered my voice. A stab of panic ran through me. I didn't want to lie to him, and so I let him in, just a little. "You know that I can't tell you everything about me."

"Why not?" he demanded.

I grabbed the first excuse I could think of. "Because I'm Level Seven."

"Stop lying!" he exploded. I flinched back. He glanced around and then back at me, looking hurt. I knew how me must be feeling. Two of his friends had lied to him that day alone. One had been found out by physically betraying them. I had been called on it. Unlike Skye, I had the chance to tell the truth before it was too late. "Have you been lying about everything?"

I shook my head, making my choice. "Not everything." He waited for me to continue. I sighed and led him over to one of the tables farthest away from the cameras I knew were outside the lab. "Fitz," I whispered. "I'm not who I say I am. My name… it's not Olivia. But… but I can't tell you any more than that."

"Why not?" he demanded, frowning.

"Because knowing who I am will just put you and everyone on this damn plane at risk!" I snapped, slamming my hand down onto the table. To my eternal relief, it didn't dent.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, angry. "Who are you?"

I had an idea. "I'll give you a month," I replied softly, avoiding the question and buying myself time. "A month during which you'll get to know me, try and figure out who I am based on how I act. You can't use computers or anything to run facial recognition scans or any of that stuff on me. At the end of the month, if you don't trust me, then you can try and discover who I am. If you do trust me, you won't feel like you need to."

He looked dubious. I reached out and took his hand. "Fitz," I whispered, desperate. "I'm trusting you. No one is supposed to know who I am except for Coulson."

He finally nodded. "Okay," he replied softly, holding up a single finger and then holding out his hand for me to shake. "One month."

I took it. "Deal," I breathed, nervous.

Coulson's voice came on over the intercom. _'Team, we're touching down in twenty minutes. Olivia, Fitz, get up here now.'_

We looked at each other and hurried upstairs where the rest of the team, minus Skye, was waiting. Coulson was leaning over the computer table.

"Fitz, you stay here with Simmons. Olivia, you're with Agent May and I, go get ready." I exchanged a look with Fitz and headed to my room.

I changed into the clothes Tony had given me for 'Agent Stuff', as he called it. I pulled the stretchy clothing on, pleased with its maneuverability, and pulled on shoes. I sat down on the edge of my bed and braided my hair back as much as I could—it wasn't much, but I was back to get it out of my face. If Chan turned hostile, I didn't want to end up bald. Speaking of which… I carefully removed my rings and tucked them away. I didn't want something to go wrong and me to lose them, not after everything I'd gone through to get them back. With my luck, they'd end up melting. I sighed and then took a deep breath, rubbing my scarred arm. Nothing was going to happen.

We landed a few minutes later, and I followed Coulson down to the ramp, where Ward was prepping, dressing in bulletproof attire and strapping guns on every available space on his body. Coulson stopped him.

"Agents May and Olivia and I will be handling the field work. You stay and oversee the prisoners."

Ward looked down, confuses. "Sir? I was Skye's S.O. It was my responsibility..."

Coulson cut him off, shaking his head. "It was my call to bring Skye onto the plane, and you warned me against it. My problem... I fix it."

Ward nodded, not looking completely happy, but accepted his job nonetheless. "Yes, Sir. Good luck, Olivia."

I nodded and followed Coulson outside into the chilly air. The building was a couple blocks away. We were met by Kwan's drivers, who gave us a lift back to the main building. I was stuck in the middle between Coulson and May, and no one spoke a word the entire ride there. When we stopped, I practically flew out of the car. Kwan was waiting for us. He frowned when he saw me.

"Agent Coulson!" he shook his hand and then pulled the man aside and lowered his voice. "Are you sure it's wise to have someone so young on this mission?"

He nodded. "She's older than she looks. One of the best hand-to-hand combat fighters I've ever had the pleasure of working with."

Kwan nodded, and Coulson shifted into business mode. He nodded towards the building. "Building has five floors. The first four are research. Fifth is listed as maintenance but uses half the building's energy."

"Either they're guarding the world's largest vacuum..." Kwan began.

Coulson continued. "Or that's where Chan's being held. Send your 'B' and 'C' teams in through the tunnels to secure the lower floors. Warn them that the Centipede serum's highly explosive."

"Understood. Where do we go in?" Kwan asked. I grinned, watching May use a grappling hook to pull her to the top of the building. I quickly followed, leaving the men behind.

"The roof."

May helped me over the ledge when we reached it, then kicked down the door. The man followed closely behind, but we paved the way, taking out every hostile in our path. May had a device in her hand, which she continually looked down at for direction.

"There." May ran ahead, checking the device in her hand. "Heat signature confirmed."

Coulson darted forward and attached a small bomb to the door. " I love these things." The explosive detonated, shredding the lock, and we entered. I took out two guards immediately, kicking one in the ribs—I felt the _crunch _of his ribcage caving in—and hitting another in the throat. He went down immediately.

I looked up from the second guard and froze, sick at what I saw. I strode through the chaos, paying little attention to May, who was taking out the guards and doctors in the room. Chan was strapped to a chair—the reminder of being wiped almost made my vomit— and was delirious. His arms were covered in burns, something that should have been impossible for someone with his abilities.

"Agent Kwan... it's you," he murmured to the agent, his head lolling.

"We're here to get you out," Kwan replied, loosening his restraints.

Coulson was busy taking out another guard, May too, but I wasn't. I watched as Chan stood and moved to inject himself with a vial of dark orange liquid.

"No!" I leapt forward and grabbed his arm as he injected the needle into his skin, but I was too late. Seconds later, his skin glowed, and he blasted me back with a wave of fire. I hit the ground, the air leaving my lungs. Somehow, I had avoided being burned, but it wasn't until I looked up that I realized why. Chan hadn't planned on attacking _me_.

Dimly I heard Coulson's voice. "Strike team needs a security override, stat. Kwan, can you arrange—" I lifted my head and watched in muted horror as agent Kwan collapsed to the ground, a hold burned straight through his chest. "Chan, what have you done?"

He grinned, the insane smirk darkening his face. "I've set myself free."

He attacked Coulson, who darted back behind a row of shelves. Chan continued pursuing, and suddenly May was by my side, dragging me with her to join Coulson where we had some semblance of shelter. I was still struggling to breathe. His punch had a surprising amount of energy and power behind it.

Chan screamed in agony as his flames consumed his arms, charring his flesh.

"Mr. Chan, I know you're in pain," Coulson shouted. I finally found my breath, and I took deep gulps of oxygen, shaking. My hands burned from contact with Chan's skin, but the damage was minimal.

"This is nothing," Chan snarled. "You were the ones killing me, forcing me to keep this gift locked up inside."

May began exchanging words in Cantonese with Chan, their voices rising, while Coulson and I looked on. They finished talking, and May turned towards Coulson, who had understood as much of the conversation as I had.

"So we're good, right?"

I shook my head. "I doubt it."

Chan howled as his arms caught fire. He hurled another wave at us, and I flinched at the heat, breathing heavily. The pain in my hands was building, although it was like a mosquito bite compared to other wounds I'd had recently. I knew that I had experienced worse in the last three months alone. I pushed the pain away, remembering how I would heal very soon, and focused on the matter at hand.

"His file say anything about him being homicidal?" May shouted, clearly pissed. She glared out around the bins.

Coulson shrugged. "Just said he was kind of a tool." He raised his voice. "Mr. Chan, believe it or not, this can still get worse."

Chan responded, growing even more dramatic. "You bend someone long enough, and they break. Poor little Chan Ho Yin may have believed your lies, but not Scorch."

I frowned and glanced around the bins. "Who?"

Coulson looked straight ahead at me, an annoyed but slightly amused look on his face. "Oh, crap. They gave him a name." He shifted. "Get me a clean look. I'll make sure he wakes up in a S.H.I.E.L.D. containment facility."

May glanced at him, murderous. "Waking is optional at this point." She shouted something in Cantonese, leaping forward and distracting Chan as she flipped across the room, drawing his fire momentarily.

Coulson leapt forward and began firing icers at him, trying to stun him, but Chan produced a blinding wall of fire that melted the bullets before they could reach him.

Coulson looked up, worried. "I'm out."

Chan grinned, the burning skin on his face stretching grotesquely. "Nothing can stop me!" Without warning, he sent a ball of flames straight at Coulson, one I knew wouldn't miss.

"No!" Without thinking, I leapt forward and shoved Coulson out of the way, taking the full force of the blow. The energy blasted me back into the shelves, sending them skidding back into the wall. I collapsed on the ground, debris raining down around me.

Someone was screaming.

I think it was me.

My arms was covered in burns, and the fabric had been burned away. I curled in on myself, trying to protect myself from more harm. The same arm that had been burned in the explosion James caused in the 60s had been burned again. I would be lucky if I could use it after this.

Cahn laughed. "You've been scorched!" he shrieked gleefully.

It hurt. Oh, lord, it hurt. I almost threw up. The pain was blinding, shooting all through my body. The last time I had hurt this bad was when they cut off my wings. Someone was shaking me.

"Olivia. Look at me."

"What happened?"

May was silent. I opened my eyes. Everything was tinged with red. The female agent bent over me, something like respect in her gaze. "Olivia, look at me. You have to walk. We have to get out of here." I responded with a whimper, which was the only thing I could do at this point besides screaming. She and Coulson helped me up, half dragging me from the room.

"Agent Olivia is down," Coulson said into his Comms device. Somewhere nearby, a woman screamed and then fell silent. He and May hurried through the corridors and then set me against the wall.

"Stay quiet," he whispered. He stepped around the corner. "Mr. Chan," he called. "We don't want to hurt you." He paused, and a small smile crossed his face, one that terrified me more than the flame-wielding man did. "But we have to."

A moment later, he and May were by my side again. "We gotta move," Coulson said, picking me up. I was bleeding onto his shirt. My head lolled back against his chest. I didn't have the strength to stay upright. The pain kept building. Soon I couldn't hear anything past the ringing in my ears, although decades of training kept me awake.

Somehow we made it outside. The cool air briefly soothed my burns. I looked up right as an explosion tore through the building. Fire poured from the rooftop, and it took me a minute to understand that it was Chan who had caused the explosion. They had killed him.

That was the last thought I had before I passed out.

When I woke up, I was in the hospital wing of the plane. I hadn't even known that we had a hospital wing on the plane. Coulson was sitting beside me, wide-awake.

"Hey." He gave me a small smile.

I tried to return it. I felt light headed and floaty. The feeling immediately triggered a feeling of panic, and the heart monitor's beeping increased dramatically. After so much torture and experimentation, being injected with drugs was the worst way for me to wake up. It also slowed down my healing process.

"Calm down, Katie," Coulson whispered. He placed a hand on my shoulder. I hadn't been burned there. "You're safe."

"You killed him," I whispered. That was my first thought, for Chan, even though he had tried to kill me; Heaven knows I had done worse, and I was still here. I hadn't been killed, or crossed off, or however they put it. Had he really deserved to die? My mouth was like sandpaper. "Chan."

Coulson nodded. There was no victorious look, no boastful air to him. He seemed resigned. Sad. "We didn't have another choice."

"So if I get too dangerous, you'll put me down too?" I asked. My voice was scratchy and broken, and it did little to hide the fear in it.

Coulson had a pained look on his face, and he shook his head. "No. Your abilities aren't that destructive."

"I could tear this plane apart," I countered, letting Coulson hold a cup of water to my lips.

"You could," he agreed softly. "But you won't. You're a better person than Chan was."

A sudden thought struck me. "How'd you know about my abilities?" I asked him softly.

"You were injected with the same form of serum as your brother," he replied, his voice just as quiet. "I figured you'd have similar physical changes." He paused for a moment. "Thank you."

I frowned. "For what?"

"You saved my life," he replied, glancing down at my arms. I had forgotten for a moment that they had been burned. "May told me about what you did."

I nodded and tried to flex my fingers. They moved a little, but not much. "Take me off the medication as soon as possible," I instructed him softly. "I'll heal quicker that way. Please."

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do." He squeezed my shoulder for a moment and then made to leave.

"How long have I been in here?" He turned around.

"Three days. The others will be glad to know that you're awake."

I nodded. "Thank you." He disappeared, leaving me alone to my thoughts. I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. I loved these people, I realized. It was why I had jumped in front of Coulson without a second thought, why I had been so torn up about Skye's betrayal. They were becoming my family. I'd been here almost two weeks, and I knew some people—Fitz mainly—were suspicious of me, but I knew that they would trust me eventually, just like I knew that we all would forgive Skye for what she'd done.

I sighed and closed my eyes, feeling the pain slowly return to my arms as Coulson removed the drugs from my system. A sudden thought reminded me of the lurking name: the Winter Soldier, but I shook it off. I would worry about that later. For now, I would sleep.


	37. Chapter 37

I was released three days later to go to my room. Simmons was astounded by how quickly I was healing, but Coulson attributed it to the fact that the burns hadn't been as bad as they'd originally thought. That was complete bull—they were worse—but I said nothing. A steady stream of visitors made its way through my room—mainly Fitz, Simmons, who I had gotten rather close to, and Coulson, although Ward and May both made brief appearances. Skye was conspicuously absent, and I couldn't help but wonder if she hated me now for how I had treated her. I hoped not. After nearly a week of bed rest, though, I was ready to leave, if only to move to my own bed.

As soon as I was released, I headed straight to my room, changed into pajamas, and sat down on my bunk, staring at my arms. The sun was setting outside my window, giving my room a slightly golden glow. The moon, according to Simmons, was right overhead, so it would be providing light that night, apparently. I was tired of talking to people. I didn't want to move or speak to another person… ever. I hoped I would be fortunate enough to avoid any human interaction until the morning, as I had managed to avoid speaking to anyone on my way back from the hospital wing. Unfortunately, my luck never lasted.

I was dozing off, almost asleep, when my door slid open.

"Olivia?"

"Why does no one on this stupid plane _knock_?" I growled, sitting up. It was dark outside now. My countenance softened when I beheld a hurt-looking Fitz standing in the doorway. I shook my head, instantly guilty. "Fitz, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you."

Fitz shrugged. "It's okay."

I shook my head again, moving so that I was sitting upright with my legs crossed beneath me. "No, it's not. I really am sorry."

He moved farther into the room, shutting the door behind him, and handed me a mug of tea. "And I'm saying there's nothing to apologize for, Olivia. Goodness knows you've got a good reason to be cranky."

I gave him a half smile and patted the edge of my bed. He joined me, clutching his own mug between his hands. I stared down at the tea, my mind wandering. I was afraid of getting close to anyone, I realized. It was why I snapped at Fitz, and at Ward, and at Coulson. I think Simmons and Agent May were the only people I hadn't yelled at. It was the reason I had taken Skye's betrayal so hard—even though I knew I was being incredibly hypocritical. I didn't want to get hurt by anyone anymore, and I didn't want anyone else to get hurt because of me.

"How are you?" he asked softly, taking a sip of his tea.

I shrugged, napping back to the present. "I'll live, I guess," I answered softly. I glanced over at him. "Are you still convinced I'm some evil spy?"

A slight smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. "Evil? Nah. I'm still trying to puzzle you out, though. You seem genuine enough, but… so do most spies."

"I'm not a spy," I answered automatically.

"You work for S.H.I.E.L.D., thought," he asked, tilting his head.

I shook my head. If only he knew. I didn't want to be within a thousand miles of any S.H.I.E.L.D. building. I didn't want to be on the same planet as Pierce, although I didn't have a choice when it came to that. I had to work for my enemy, and I didn't have a choice. Not like he did. "I don't."

"Then why are you here?" he asked me seriously.

I glanced over at him and gave him a little, sad half-smile. "Too close, Fitz," I whispered. "I can't answer that."

He nodded unhappily and looked around. My mind wandered again, and I found myself staring at the picture of Eli and I that decorated my wall.

"Who is that?" Fitz asked after a few minutes, following my gaze to rest on the picture of Eli and I that hung beside the door. "Your boyfriend?"

I blinked and then swallowed, my throat suddenly tight, and took a quick sip of tea to avoid answering. My eyes stung. I wondered what had happened in the time since my capture. I was never this emotional before HYDRA got ahold of me. Now I was an emotional wreck.

Fitz turned his large blue eyes on me, searching for an answer, and I sighed. "His name was Eli," I murmured, forcing the tears away. "No, h-he wasn't my boyfriend, but… he was my best friend."

I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn't died. Eli and I had definitely had a connection, and I wondered if we would have stayed together if he hadn't been killed.

I knew that James was dead, but some naïve part of me still refused to believe that he was really gone. Sometimes I'd find myself waiting for him to stroll through the door. The day after Coulson took me off of medication, I could have sworn that for a moment, James was sitting beside me, asleep. Of course, it was just a dream. Well, a memory, actually.

When Steve and I heard James's battalion had been captured in 1943, we both took a separate approach to get him back. Steve had gone to ask permission. I had taken a Jeep and left.

Unfortunately, I had been captured. Arnim Zola, the bastard, had personally seen to it that I was experimented on. He knew who I was, and he knew that my brother had survived the procedures done on him. Steve found me in lying on a table in the room across from James's. Neither knew I had been experimented on. I had been too afraid to tell them. By the time I had worked up the courage, it was too late. It was why I had demanded to go with them on that last day on the train. I knew that if I had similar abilities to Steve, I would be able to help them.

It was also why I felt that James's death was my fault. I had strength. I had power. I should have been able to save them, protect them. And I wasn't enough. James died to save me. It should have been the other way around. He should have been the one who lived.

Fitz's eyes widened at my use of the past tense, and he practically tripped over himself trying to backtrack. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize—"

I gave him a sad smile and shrugged, feeling as though the weight of the word was on my shoulders. "So am I."

Fitz glanced down at his cup and then looked back up at me. "What happened to him?"

"He died." My voice broke, and I quickly drank more tea as my throat began to ache. I needed to get my emotions under control; Ward was right about that: I needed to pull myself together. I couldn't afford to break down in the middle of a mission because my emotions were running rampant. But here, now, I was in my room with my friend whilst drinking tea. I didn't need to hide. I winced. Well, actually, I did. Just… I didn't need to hide my emotions, just my past. Even that was blurred when it came to Fitz, though. He knew I wasn't who I said I was.

"How? What happened?"

I didn't think Fitz was being pushy. I thought he was just curious, trying to direct the conversation away from my wounds, which I was grateful for; I just wish that redirecting the conversation hadn't moved it directly to talking about the fact that my best friend had been murdered.

"I, um…" I licked my lips and sat back against the wall. I had to blur some of the details, change some of the wording, but otherwise the story was exactly the same. It was just as painful now as it was then. "We were on a, uh, a rogue mission, you could say. Not even our S.O. knew about it. We were scouting out these archives, searching for information on one of the Level Eight S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. We made it through the building without detection, and we were leaving it when it happened. We…" I swallowed, remembering how Clint had found us, how I had run into Steve, and how Eli had dragged me away, hauling me after him as we ran. "We were found by our S.O. and the agent we were looking for information on, and so we ran. We were halfway to the extraction point when—" I took a deep breath, fighting back tears. "A sniper shot him," I murmured, staring forlornly into my tea.

"Did he make it to a hospital?" Fitz asked. He had remained silent the whole of the story. "Did your S.O. help him?"

I shook my head quickly. "He didn't make it to a hospital," I managed to whisper, feeling my eyes fill with tears. "The bullet, it… it ripped his chest apart." I pressed a hand to my own chest gently, remembering how the bullet had shredded his flesh and bones. "He died instantly. Our S.O., he caught up to us right after. I didn't stay long enough to see his reaction." That wasn't quite true. I remembered seeing Clint's face when he caught sight of his baby brother on the ground. He was devastated. Heartbroken.

"Why not?" Fitz asked.

"I went after the sniper," I whispered. I had, hadn't I? Yes, I did.

All the memories after Eli's death were blurred. Even ones half remembered, like Pierce's, still had no sight. No, wait—it was blurry, but becoming clearer every second. My brows furrowed as I leaned forward, straining to remember.

My arms had been pinned behind me, and my wings had been strapped to my back. A man was holding me against his chest, preventing my escape. I was fighting for my life, and then I wasn't. I was looking into a mirror: I looked like someone from a nightmare. And Pierce was holding a gun to James's head.

I stopped and then frowned, shaking my head. My fingers tightened around my cup. That couldn't be right. There were too many memories, too many thoughts jammed inside my head. Too much rested on my shoulders. I was so tired of living. Maybe that was why whenever James captured me, I would challenge him, taunt him, tell him to kill me. Maybe I really meant it.

James.

I froze.

He's alive.

My cup fell from my singed fingers and shattered on the floor of the plane. My body went completely numb, and my mind blanked. James. James. He was alive. How was he alive?

My body went rigid as though receiving an electric shock, and all the memories I had forgotten came rushing back as if the wipes were being reversed.

I remembered _everything_.

James was the one who had made me remember who I was in the 60s, the one who set off the bomb that burned my arm. He had started to _remember_, and he hadn't told our handlers that I had tried to run. He said it had been a failed mission. He set off the bomb as a distraction so I could escape, but I got caught in the blast instead. I had remembered his name. I had been wiped because I had started to remember. So had he. I had recovered. He hadn't.

He was the one I thought was going to try and kill Tony, the reason I went back to New York all those months ago. I hadn't known that I was his target instead. He attacked me when I got to the base of the Tower but ran away, letting Bruce heal me. Then he waited there after Bruce took me in; he attacked Eli to draw me out. He was at war with himself.

James was the one who had shot me out of the sky in Canada, who had hunted Eli and I across the country but had given us enough of a head start for me to heal.

I shuddered, trembling violently.

James was the one who killed Eli.

I fought him on the rooftop, but he hesitated while he was fighting me. He hadn't killed me, even when I had ordered him to. Was it recognition or his mission?

James was the one who held me down when they cut off my wings. But he had hesitated, hadn't he? When I called his name, screamed at him to help me, he let go of me. He started to remember.

He fought Tony when the Avengers came to rescue me, but he ran away instead of killing him. What had that cost him?

The Winter Soldier was there, but so was James. He was fighting to get out after all these years. He was… he was just like me. Just like the Angel and I had struggled for dominance for so many decades, so were James and the Winter Soldier battling for control.

I went cold.

James was losing.

I had been able to hold onto shreds of memory, James had made sure of that. Now, I had people who loved me to take care of me when I lapsed into forgetfulness. James had no one. The only times he had ever remembered anything, I knew, was when I was with him. And I had left him.

A choked scream escaped my frozen lips. I left him. In the 90s, I left him at that damned HYDRA base. I ran without thinking about him. I left him in front of the Tower even though I knew what HYDRA would try and do to him. I left him in the HYDRA base after my capture—although I knew I couldn't be held responsible for that, not really, as I had been unconscious. I still blamed myself. Survivor's guilt; I understood it better than anyone.

James had been Wiped and held prisoner for more than twenty years longer than I had. What had they done to him in all that time? What if… what if James was gone? I hadn't so much as glimpsed him since the last time I was Wiped. What if… no. I couldn't think like that.

Oh, god.

_**Зимний солдат.**_

__Coulson had a file on him. On the Winter Soldier. Were we hunting him? Was that why I was really here? S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't use me as a weapon, and they couldn't use Steve to get rid of me anymore, not now that he remembered me—were they trying to use me as a weapon to kill James, since I hadn't remembered him? I couldn't hurt James, much less kill him, not after everything. I had to bring him back.

It was only then that I realized that my tiny room was full of people: at least, Coulson, Fitz, and May were there. My ears were ringing. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. My burned hands were knotted into my hair, and I was rocking back in forth, muttering in rapid-fire Russian.

"—into shock," Fitz was saying.

"Olivia? Olivia, can you hear me?"

"Зимний солдат," I whispered, staring at Coulson with wild eyes. My heart was beating wildly in my ears, so hard and fast I thought it might burst. "Коулсон—"

"Is that Russian?"

"Everyone out!" Coulson yelled.

Fitz tried to interject. "But Sir—"

"Now!" he roared. Everyone froze and exited quickly, shutting the door.

I released the grip on my hair and twisted my ring around my bandaged finger, murmuring quickly and indecipherably in Russian.

"Katie," he whispered, catching my hand and holding it as tightly as he could without hurting me. "Katie, look at me. _Look at me_."

I finally did, but my eyes were unfocused. "Коулсон," I spoke frantically, "Это Джеймс—"

"English," he murmured, squeezing my hand gently. "Come on, Katie. English. Let me help you."

Something clicked, and my thoughts shifted from Russian to English once more. I felt more solid, as though speaking in Russian was a step on a much darker path. Maybe it was—Russian was the language _they _had used around me for all those years, except for Pierce and a couple others. I had a handle on it now, though. The Angel hated HYDRA as much as I did; there was little chance I'd shift back into an assassin.

"It's him," I whispered, the English feeling foreign on my tongue. "It's him."

He shook his head. "What—?"

I looked down again, my shaking fingers fumbling with my ring. "He's alive." Instead of smiling like I thought I would—the man I had loved was alive!—I broke down and fell onto Coulson's shoulder, sobbing.

He held me close, much like I imagined a father would a daughter, whispering to me as I cried, devastated. He didn't understand what was wrong, I knew, as much of my explanation shifted into Russian, but he knew I was upset, and he was trying to help me as best he could.

"What happened?" he asked me softly, once I had cried myself out. I lay back on my bed, utterly exhausted.

"I remember," I breathed in response. He didn't understand what exactly was going on, I knew, but I thought he knew enough about my imprisonment to know that I wasn't all there, that I was about as unstable as you could be without being completely insane. "I remember."

He nodded and pressed a cool hand to my forehead, brushing my curls back away from my face. "Get some rest," he murmured softly. He left, shutting the door and leaving me alone. We were flying above the clouds now, and the moon was shining through the window behind me, giving me some light.

I rose and fumbled over to the wall to pull a book from its shelf. I gently felt through the pages and pulled an old photograph from between them before returning to my bed and covering myself with a blanket. I stared at the picture hungrily, memorizing every detail.

"Моя любовь, я найду тебя," I whispered softly into the darkness, clutching his ring and his picture close to my chest. "мне так жаль."

**A/N: She's remembered! **

**If you have any questions about Katie: her physical enhancements, her mental state (I'm going to have a hay day with that one), or even about the future chapters, let me know :) I'd be glad to answer any questions you might have.**

**Translations: **

_**Зимний солдат = The Winter Soldier**_

_**Это Джеймс = It's James **_

_**Коулсон = Coulson**_

_**Моя любовь = My love**_

_**я найду тебя = I will find you**_

_**мне так жаль = I am so sorry**_


	38. Chapter 38

"Katie." Coulson's voice was soft. "I'm reassigning Agent May as your S.O., at least until you can get back to Agent Barton."

I frowned, sitting up in bed. Phil had come to me that morning—I hadn't slept a wink, so it didn't really matter—and slipped inside to talk. Apparently he thought Ward wasn't doing a good enough job at training me, seeing as how I'd gotten fried to a crisp within a month of joining the team.

"Why?"

He moved to sit beside me, and I pulled my knees up to my chest to make room. "Because until last night, I had no idea of how deep your pain ran, how mentally scarred you were from everything that happened to you. Now I do."

"And how does May being my S.O. help with that?" I asked softly, my mind jumping around wildly. Ward already knew about my abilities and for some reason hadn't told anyone. If May found out… I had a feeling she'd be a lot less forgiving than Ward. She didn't seem like a "second chances" sort of gal.

"Because she went through something too," he said softly. "Something that destroyed her. But she was able to pick herself back up and heal. I think she could help you."

"You never really heal, Coulson," I murmured, tracing the scars on my arms. My arms had scarred over abnormally quickly, even for me, which made me fear that my abilities were growing stronger. Sooner or later, I would get shot and just keep going.

"Be as that may, I stand by what I said before. May will be your new S.O."

"Why do I need an S.O., anyway?" I asked, frowning up at Coulson. I lowered my voice. "I'm a Level Seven to them."

"When it comes to the amount of information you've been given and exposed to, yes. Not when it comes to skill."

"Yes, I agree. When it comes to skill, I'm a Level Ten," I snapped, my frown darkening. I had been trained by assassins. I had no doubts that if I needed to, I could take out everyone on this plane. And maybe that was the problem. I needed to learn how to fight without aiming to kill. He shook his head, but I continued. "Do the others not think it strange that a Level Seven agent is operating under an S.O.? Skye has Ward, but she's not even an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. yet."

"It doesn't matter what the others think—" he began, his expression a picture of calm.

I was about to explode. "Bull. Of course it matters what the others think. The whole reason I'm on this damn plane is so _others think _I'm dead, Coulson!"

"Enough." He stood, straightening his suit. "I know you're upset. I know this whole thing had been horrible and traumatic for you, and I'm sorry. I really am. But despite what you may think, you do need help. You're still a kid trapped inside her own head. I've asked May to help get you out. She knows what bottling up emotions does to a person, and I've asked her to make sure it doesn't happen to you."

"Too late for that," I shrugged, meeting his gaze.

"We'll see." He turned to go. "Get some sleep," he told me, his voice lowering. "You look exhausted."

He left. I collapsed back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I needed help, yes, but I didn't want it. I wanted to work it out on my own, figure it all out myself. Unfortunately, I didn't know how.

So I'd give this training thing a shot.

For now.

…

Agent May was the one to wake me up that afternoon. I had slept through lunch, apparently, and Coulson was worried about me. Fortunately, he had the correct feeling that I didn't want to—or couldn't—speak to him, and so he sent her instead.

May stood like a silent sentry beside my door, watching me as I sat up and made to stand. I crossed my burned arms over my chest, wondering where to begin. She had to know that I wasn't pleased about being given a babysitter. I wasn't sure how to approach the topic with her. To my surprise, she spoke first.

"What happened last night?" she asked, her voice somewhat harsh but also… pitying? Sad?

It wasn't wise for me to lie to her, no matter how much I wanted to. I knew it would do me no good to do so: she'd see right through me, especially since she saw me break down the night before. It was best to tell her the baseline truth, let her fill in the details herself. "I remembered something," I told her, staring down at my hands.

"You were having a fit," she replied tightly.

"A flashback," I corrected quickly. "It hasn't happened in a while."

I glanced up in time to catch sight of a pained look crossing her face. I knew what was wrong with me besides the memory loss and the mental and physical unbalance: PTSD. I was permanently scarred from what I had seen, what had been done to me. Was May as well? What had she gone through to make her this cold, this closed off?

"What was it about?" she finally asked, her voice a bit gentler than it had been before.

"My…" I let out a breath, staring down at my hands. It didn't matter how many times I spoke of it, how many times the memory raced through my mind. It still hurt the same as it did the day it happened. "I, uh, was captured on a mission. My partner was as well. I made it out. He didn't."

She shifted a little, and a look of haunted understanding flashed in her eyes. "Was it your fault?"

My eyes flitted up to rest on hers. "That I was captured?"

May shook her head. "That _he_ was captured."

I stared down at my hands, choking back anger and grief. It was so much worse now that I remembered that he was alive. Because now I had no choice but to blame myself for all the hell he had gone through and survived. Before, I thought I had caused his death, and though it pained me, I knew that he would have passed by now anyway. Now I had caused his torment. He had been forced to live out the same nightmare I had. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

_"Bucky! Katie! Hang on!"_

_ "Get her!"_

_"Grab my hand—NO!"_

_ "JAMES!"_

I took a deep breath, shivering.

_I left him. _

"Yes," I whispered. It was my fault. Everything was my fault.

"What happened?"

In response, I stood, my back to her, and tugged my shirt over my head, revealing my scarred back. I knew I was being rash, but I didn't care. I needed someone to know my story, even if they thought it belonged to someone else. I needed someone to understand. Maybe Coulson was right. I took a deep breath, feeling the warped skin stretch as my chest expanded. Even the scars where my wings had once been were visible, only partially covered by my bra. I heard May take a sharp intake of breath, and I pulled my shirt back on, being careful to avoid scraping the fabric against my arms.

"They tortured me," I said slowly, tracing my right palm, one of the only non-burnt places on my arms. My fingertips grazed over the small indentions where my nails had just rested. Even after all this time I couldn't understand why anyone would want to harm another person. Well, another innocent person. I had killed too many HYDRA agents to be able to wonder about the first question.

"Why?"

I looked up, meeting her gaze. "I don't know."

And I really didn't. It's not as if they didn't already have a weapon in the Winter Soldier, one that had beaten me many times before. They didn't need information. Maybe they wanted me to pay for Steve's victory. Maybe they wanted another lab rat. I don't know.

"And what happened to your partner?" May leaned back against the wall, her dark eyes glittering. There was so much pain there. So much hurt. I wondered what she had gone through. I recognized the look there. I saw it whenever I looked in the mirror.

"He, um…" I licked my lips, clasping my shaking hands together tightly. "He helped me escape. I saw him, once, since then. He tried to kill me. They, um…" I took a deep breath, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe. "They wiped him. Like they wiped me." I shrugged, wrapping my arms around myself. "But I broke out of it, and—" I licked my lips. "And he hasn't."

"What do you mean they wiped you?" May's brow furrowed, and I realized several seconds too late that I had said way too much.

What's the point in backtracking? Coulson can confirm this with her later, anyway. "They brainwashed me," I muttered, staring down at my nails. I had killed people with them. I had ripped their throats out… and I didn't regret it. I regretting murdering people, yes. But I didn't regret killing the people who had hurt James and I. "And they brainwashed him. Deleted our memories. Seeing each other broke the 'spell,' I suppose. He got me out, once I woke up. But he got caught. And then he was erased. Permanently."

Even as I said it, I prayed it wasn't true.

"If you were brainwashed, then how do you know that this is you?" May gestured lightly to me. "And not a projection of someone else in your head? Memories to think your Coulson's niece."

I shook my head. "It doesn't work like that."

Her response was quick and harsh. "How do you know?"

My temper was fraying rapidly, and I clenched my teeth. "Because I remember waking up strapped to a chair with no memory of who or what I was. I remember being trained as a weapon. Then I saw him, my partner, and it started coming back. And he started to recognize me. One night, he broke me out. Helped me past the guards. I thought he got gunned down." I shrugged again, only now realizing that there were fresh tears on my cheeks. I needed to get my emotions under control. "I guess not."

She glanced down, looking slightly abashed. "I'm sorry."

I didn't say anything.

"Which part did you remember last night?" she asked, shifting her weight again.

A small smile pulled at the corner of my lips. _I love you, Katie_. "Him. I remembered him."

To my eternal relief, she didn't ask what had made me forget him in the first place, and she didn't ask me to clarify. I suppose she thought that my mind had just blocked it out. She didn't ask about my new and frankly creepy ability to speak fluent Russian either, thankfully.

"So are you going back?" May asked, tilting her head. "To go track him down, or find him, or whatever it is you think you need to do?"

I took a breath, my brow furrowing. This is what I had stayed up all night thinking about. I had only fallen asleep after Coulson had come to speak to me; I was so distraught about the crossroads in front of me. Would I go after him? Was it worth it?

Certainly James was worth it, but… but James wasn't there. He wasn't in control. Not right now. And the only thing going back would do would be to get myself captured, tortured, and brainwashed. If I waited, maybe he would break out on his own. Maybe he would find me.

_You left him._

My heart shattered and then froze. "No."

May studied me for a few moments longer and then nodded. "Alright." She turned to go, and then stopped. "The others are worried about you. You should come out, spend some time with them."

I nodded, staring at my hands. "Agent May?" She glanced back, pausing in the doorway. "What happened?"

She apparently knew what I meant. What had happened to her to make her like this? Her expression immediately closed off, and her jaw locked as she clenched her teeth. Her hands twitched. "I couldn't save her."

She left.

A few minutes later I got up and changed into real clothes, still debating whether I needed to leave my room or not. It was warm, it was comfortable, it was safe… and going out there wasn't.

Despite that, I found myself walking out the door a few minutes later.

I found the others gathered around the table playing a game called Telestrations. Ward had his feet up on the table, a beer in his hand. Simmons had a marker behind her ear and was grinning, although something about her smile seemed strained. Fitz and Skye were yelling at each other across the table, and Coulson was smiling in satisfaction at the notepad he held as though he had drawn the best picture in the world.

Fitz shared down at said notepad in disbelief, completely missing the offended glare he received from Coulson. "There is no way that is a real thing—"

Simmons looked up from the notepad she had just received from Skye. "How on earth do you draw a cat-nap?"

"You can't just say what it is!" Fitz yelped, glaring over at Simmons, who was smirking at him from across the room. "You're missing the point of the game!"

"I win." Coulson tossed the notepad onto the table and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ward and Simmons leaned forward to assess the damage before turning back to the agent beside them.

"Erm… That's not how the game works, sir."

Fitz was the first to notice me. "Olivia?"

All five heads turned to look at me. May apparently had returned to the cockpit to steer the plane and avoid my questions. I shifted under their gazes, notably more uncomfortable. Maybe I should have stayed in my room. I wish I had been gifted with invisibility instead of strength; it would have been a lot more useful.

It was Skye who broke the silence.

"C'mon," she gave me a nervous smile and patted the seat beside her, moving over to make more room. "I'll show you how to play."

I joined them, and a moment later we continued. I had forgotten how much I missed when we all were together. I examined my teammates, assessing their movements, seeing how they were. Simmons seemed slightly shaken up.

I spoke up before I could stop myself. "Simmons, are you alright?"

It was as if I had announced that I was Captain America's sister. I doubt even that bombshell could have silenced the room the way this question did. Everyone stopped talking and looked at me. What had I said? Had I been unconscious through an assignment and missed a memo about being quiet? I glanced around, catching more than one person shifting uncomfortably in his or her seat. Probably.

Simmons glanced down, and I could have sworn that when she looked up, she and Ward exchanged knowing glances. "I'm fine, Olivia," she smiled.

"Are you sure?" I glanced around at the others. "What happened?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Coulson offered me a small smile. "Everything has been taken care of. We're all safe now."

Uh, huh.

"Then why is everyone acting so weird?"

Why was everyone walking on eggshells around me like I was about to explode? Even if I had missed something, there was no reason…

My stomach dropped as realization hit me, and I felt like someone had hit me with a bus.

Oh.

I got it, then. It was because of what had happened the night before.

Because even if they hadn't come running to my room the night before, my screaming and incoherent Russian muttering had probably been heard by everyone on the plane. They probably thought I was some sort of freak. And they'd be right.

"Well, you kind of got fried a few days ago," Skye was the one to speak up, and it was her nonchalant way of talking that set my nerves at ease. Or, at least, it made me less tense to have someone speaking to me like I wasn't about to fly apart. "We didn't know how you'd be acting after that."

I couldn't tell if she was lying, hiding the fact that I had been sobbing in Russian, but I was grateful nonetheless. And I realized that I had forgiven her. I wasn't angry with her for betraying us, for betraying me… because I was doing the same thing. And I knew that I couldn't judge her reasons for being less worthy than my own (even if they were, all their lives being at stake and all).

I glanced down at my arms. Each was resting on one of my thighs and turned upward so that my palms faced the ceiling. Bandages still cocooned both forearms, but both were nearly healed, not that the others knew that. I knew I would have horrible scars, though. I always did.

"Thank you," I said, looking up at her. She seemed surprised, but she smiled slowly, as if asking if she was forgiven. I grinned back.

"No problem. Now, let me show you how to play."

She leaned forward and snatched a couple notebooks from the pile on the table. "First, you pick a word. Then you draw a picture…"

I let her talk, only half listening, as a warm feeling filled my chest. Was I still hurting? Yes, of course. I doubted I would ever reach a point where I didn't ache with the pain of the burden and scars I carried. I knew that my fiancé was still out there, somewhere. I knew I would find him someday, and I would bring him back. Because just like how I couldn't judge Skye, I couldn't judge James. He and I were in the exact same boat: brainwashed, tortured, manipulated. Broken. Lost.

And I still loved him. I would always love him. And I was going to save him.

But for now, I would stay put. Like I said when Coulson spoke to me earlier, I would give this a shot. I wasn't strong enough to take on HYDRA alone. And so I'd let May train me. I would gain allies, friends, people I could trust. I would learn to control my strength, my power. I'd learn how to be as deadly on my feet as I had been with wings. I'd learn how to fight without killing, unless I absolutely had to. I would learn how to control or eliminate the Angel once and for all so that I would forever be in control of my own actions, not her.

And then, when the time was right, I would act. I would go home to my brother, to the Avengers. I would find James. I would avenge Eli. I would destroy HYDRA once and for all—

And then…

I took a deep breath.

I'll be free.

**End of Part 1**


End file.
